


Necessary Evil

by CourtingInsanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, DMHG - Freeform, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Evil Lucius Malfoy, F/M, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lawyer Hermione Granger, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Slow Burn, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-04-17 06:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 134,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14182713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtingInsanity/pseuds/CourtingInsanity
Summary: Hermione Granger is a case worker for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Draco Malfoy has just been released from Azkaban nearly five years since the end of the Final Battle. Throw in a vindictive boss, an ailing mother and a common goal, and you've got a recipe for a slow burn Dramione.





	1. The First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my imagination! I will be updating this fic every Sunday! :D

The Manor had not changed since the last time she had visited some five years ago. It rose up from the impossibly green valley, surrounded on all sides by rolling hills topped with grey skies. The stone walls were still covered in leafy vines, and the pretentious albino peacocks were pecking around the fountain centrepiece.

From behind the tall wrought-iron gates, Hermione Granger gazed up at the building with a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her fingers tightened around the thick set of folders she was holding and her chest rose and fell quickly as she lifted a shaking hand towards the gate. She held her wand out, as if she expected the gates to take it from her, and they melted away. She hesitated for a moment and then stepped forward. The ground crunched unpleasantly beneath her as she made her way across the grounds.

The last time she had visited this place, she had been held hostage and tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione had left this home with the proof that its inhabitants hated her and everything she was, engraved on to her left arm. Subconsciously, she tugged at the long sleeve of her blouse.

The man she was due to meet had been present at the time of her torture, though she held no animosity towards him for not trying to stop his deranged aunt. They had been children, forced to fight in a war that they had no part in starting. She did not blame him. In fact, she almost pitied him; that was why she had come – because she had believed in his innocence back then, and still believed in it now.

A sudden cracking noise forced Hermione's attention to the front door. A small creature had appeared on the threshold, dressed in a freshly pressed pillow case with the letter M elegantly monogramed onto its chest. Its ears flopped downwards like a hound's, and its nose was long and pointy. As she climbed the short flight of steps, a large grin broke over the creature's face. Its eyes, giant and yellow in its relatively small face, lit up at the sight of its guest before the house-elf hurriedly fell into a very low bow.

"Miss Granger!" The creature squeaked, its face still pointed towards the ground. "Miksy is so pleased to meet you, Miss!"

The young woman blinked once before collecting herself and clearing her throat. "The pleasure is all mine, Miksy."

The house-elf's back audibly cracked as she straightened quickly. She clasped her hands in front of her, and began to wring them at an incredible speed.

"Mast-Master Malfoy is right…is right this way, Miss," Miksy's impossibly wide eyes blinked rapidly as her small chest heaved. Walking backwards so as not to break eye contact with Hermione, the elf snapped her fingers and the front doors swung open.

Hermione clutched her papers tightly to her chest as she followed Miksy into the dark hallway. She squinted as the doors shut behind them and her eyes struggled to adjust to the dark.

"Apologies, Miss," the house-elf lamented, "Master is used to the darks of Azkaban, Miss. He is not wanting the light, Miss." Miksy continued to wring her hands as she led Hermione into a sitting room off to the right of the entrance.

"It's fine, Miksy," she murmured as her right shin found the edge of a heavy hall table. Eyes watering, Hermione continued through the darkened interior until she felt Miksy's small, cool hands usher her into a large armchair.

"I is getting you tea, Miss," Miksy squeaked. Before Hermione could open her mouth to respond, there was a crack and Miksy was gone.

Hermione sighed, a lock of frizzy brown hair bouncing away from her face briefly, only to settle over her right eye once more. She swiped it impatiently behind her ear and lit her wand, holding it slightly aloft to take in her surroundings. She was standing in the middle of a modestly-sized sitting room. The walls were painted a soft grey which glowed almost blue beneath the light of her wand. In the middle of the room was a matching lounge suite consisting of a white three-seater couch and two matching armchairs. With a sigh, Hermione chose the armchair that was angled slightly so she could keep an eye on the doorway, and set about organising her papers, her wand lit and held precariously in her teeth.

As she turned to page six, a shadow moved fleetingly over the left side of the parchment. Her jaw slackened and her wand dropped reflexively into her waiting hand. In less than a second, she was out of her chair, her parchment at her feet, and her still-lit wand was aloft, pointing directly at her charge's chest.

The blond man stood with his arms crossed against a broad, yet hollow, chest. His waist was almost smaller than Hermione's and his legs looked too thin in his expensive grey trousers. The white Oxford he had buttoned to his throat hung loose on his frame, giving him the overall appearance of a young boy who was playing dress-up in his father's closet. His face, however, was far from anything Hermione would akin to a child's. Grey eyes, still cold and guarded; sharp cheek bones, starker than when they were younger thanks to near starvation; and a thin mouth set, as usual, into a hard line. His eyebrows knitted as their gazes met, his eyes moving from the tip of her lit wand which was still directed towards him. He did not greet her verbally, but offered an infinitesimal nod of the head before striding past her to take a seat in the other arm chair. Though he folded gracefully into the soft material, Hermione could not help but notice how small he looked in it.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and willed her heart to stop racing as she lowered her wand. Slowly, she pivoted on the spot and smoothed her hands over the material of her navy blue pencil skirt, ensuring that her blouse was still tucked into the high waistband.

"Mister Malfoy," the salutation tasted bitter on her tongue, given their history, but she wasn't about to jeopardise her job for the sake of a school yard grudge. She offered him her hand as she spoke.

"Granger," his arms untangled and he slowly lowered them to rest on the arms of his chair, but he made no move to accept her proffered hand. Hermione swallowed as he stared impassively back at her. A faint blush stained her neck and threatened to climb her cheeks as she realised that she was still standing. He watched her as she bent quickly to recover her files. She took her place across from him, perching on the edge of her armchair and crossing her legs at the ankles. Hermione opened her mouth to begin their meeting when a faint sound caught her attention.

Quick footsteps echoed down the adjacent hall, growing louder as they approached the sitting room. Miksy appeared underneath a large tea tray laden with a tea pot, two tea cups, and what appeared to be the entire selection of biscuits from Honeyduke's sweet shop.

"Tea!" Squeaked the house-elf as she placed the tray between Malfoy and Hermione. "I is getting you more when you wish, Master!"

"Thank you, Miksy," Malfoy said quietly without taking his eyes off of Hermione. The young woman felt an unpleasant ripple up her spine and her cheeks flushed. Miksy bowed low to Malfoy, and then to Hermione before disapparating with a loud crack!

Malfoy leaned forward and busied himself with a tea cup; two sugars and lots of milk, Hermione noticed. Following his lead, she poured her own drink, though she preferred hers a lot stronger and definitely less sweet. When they were settled with their perfectly brewed tea, Hermione cleared her throat and began to shuffle the parchment on her lap.

She glanced up to look at Malfoy, who was sitting like a statue, his gaze trained on hers. She felt her breath catch in her throat on the inhale. She had thought this would be easy, a natural step to take after all her efforts of the last five years. She was mistaken. Sitting there, in the cold, dark house, facing her childhood nemesis, Hermione felt her Gryffindor courage threatening to leave her. Okay, relax her inner monologue was firm. Deep breath. In, hold it, and out.

"It's good to see you again, Mister Malfoy." She figured it would not hurt to ease into the official conversation.

"Is it?" He deadpanned.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Yes, it is." She was not sure if she was lying or not. Part of her was glad to see him, because it meant he was no longer behind bars; a fate she had protested against profusely. The other part of her, however, wanted nothing more than to collect her files and make a quick exit. Even after all these years, he still unnerved her.

She cleared her throat after a long pause, in which Malfoy made no effort to reply. Adjusting her wand so that it pointed down at her lap, she lowered her gaze to the parchment and began to read aloud.

"I have been sent by the Ministry to act as your case manager during the period of your house arrest. I will be visiting you weekly to ensure you are adhering to the conditions of your release from Azkaban Prison. Do you understand and agree to these terms?"

"Yes," he muttered. He took a sip from his tea cup. The cup was much too small for his hands, and so he held the handle in an almost comical pincer grip.

"Excellent," Hermione marked the first three pages of her notes with her initials, and stacked them neatly at the bottom of the pile. "This first visit is going to consist of routine questions, and will be an opportunity for you to ask any questions you may have relating to your case. I do ask, however, that you leave these questions until the end of the visit, to ensure we get through all of the necessary paperwork." Malfoy made a noise of contempt and Hermione's quill paused, her head snapping up to meet his gaze in the dim light. He took her look as one of questioning.

"Glad to see you haven't changed, Granger," his voice was wooden.

"Excuse me?" Hermione felt her cheeks heat and was momentarily glad no candles were lit.

"Still a bossy know-it-all," the young man whispered. "Just an observation; not meant to offend." His tone suggested otherwise.

"The questions," she pulled out a short ream of parchment, "are not meant to be invasive for the sake of being nosey, but rather to ensure the Ministry is handling your case in the best way possible." Malfoy made another noise of derision.

"To pry more like it." He crossed his arms and fixed her with a pointed stare, his eyes glowing eerily in the dark space.

The tension in the room was almost palpable. Hermione worried her bottom lip with her teeth and she shuffled her files unnecessarily. Her heart was beating a staccato in her chest, and she hoped fervently that Malfoy hadn't noticed her shallow breathing.

She had come a long way since the war and felt as though she had dealt with the trauma she had endured within these walls. She no longer suffered nightmares of the incident, but she could not control the symptoms of anxiety as they rippled through her body.

"Has a Medi-Witch been to see you since your release?"

"Yes," Malfoy drawled. "Surely you knew that? Doesn't the Ministry have access to these sorts of records; at least for prisoners?" His face contorted around the word as if it were poison.

"I'll answer your questions at the end, Mister Malfoy," Hermione snapped back as she scribbled on her parchment. "Second question; have you had any visitors since your release?"

"I hardly see how that is the business of the Ministry," Malfoy's fingertips dug into the soft material of the armrests.

"Just answer the question."

Malfoy was silent for a few moments and Hermione felt desperation bubble in her chest at the thought of having reached a stale mate so early on in the process.

"No."

Hermione blinked and opened her mouth, preparing to launch into a detailed lecture on just why he did not have the right to refuse to answer her questions, and that given his position, he should just do as he was asked, but then she realised his response in the negative was actually his answer. She took a deep breath and pursed her lips, scribbling as she spoke again.

"Third question; what have you been doing since your release?"

Hermione practically heard Malfoy's eyes roll as he huffed and shifted in his seat, his arms folded across his chest once more. "I've been having gay little tea parties with the house elves, hosted a charity gala, and organised a week of pampering with my beautician," he deadpanned. "Honestly, Granger, I've only been home a week, and I'm under house arrest – or in case no one told you, I've been in Azkaban for the last five years. Ring any bells?"

His grey eyes protruded slightly from his sunken face and Hermione had to swallow repeatedly to stop herself from snapping at him. Glad to see you haven't changed either, Malfoy, she thought savagely. Her insides squirmed as she noted his answer onto her parchment. Adding the final period with a flourish, she steeled herself to ask the next one. As if she didn't know exactly how it was worded, she read slowly from her parchment. She hoped Malfoy wouldn't notice the way her hands trembled.

"Fourth question; how are you feeling mentally since your release from Azkaban Prison?" She was greeted with silence. After a series of long seconds, she lowered the parchment to peer into Malfoy's face. In the dim light, she could see that the lines on his forehead had deepened. His hands had come to rest just beneath his chin, the tips of his fingers pressed together.

"I don't know how to answer that one," he breathed finally. Hermione felt her shoulders relax as she hurried to copy down his answer.

The rest of the meeting carried on without further incident, Hermione asking questions and taking notes while Malfoy answered with an increasingly annoyed tone. As the sun sunk beneath the hills, the drapes fell across the windows, plunging them into total darkness. Miksy appeared suddenly at Malfoy's side with a lone candle, standing in a glass holder. Though it was not enough light to write by, Hermione could at least make out Malfoy's facial features and was able to complete the majority of her notes with the help of her dimly lit wand.

"Final question," she finally muttered, her mouth having long gone dry. "Have you heard from your mother or father since your release?" She looked up from her parchment and her eyes widened as she took in his expression. His eyes were empty, but the tightness of his jaw and the way his knuckles cracked as he balled his hands into fists suggested she had hit a nerve. She frowned in confusion.

"I think that's enough for today, Granger." His voice was low and full of warning.

"I understand this is difficult, but – "

"No you do not understand!" He spat, rising from the chair. "How could Little Miss Perfect, champion of the Wizarding World and Harry effing Potter's best friend possibly understand what a Death Eater like me is going through?"

Hermione bit the inside of her lower lip as she took in his heaving form, trying to assess the situation.

"The questions may be invasive, but they are necessary." She paused, warring internally with herself. She wanted him to feel somewhat at ease, if only because it would make her job easier. However, she was bound by the standards and expectations of the Ministry. She swallowed thickly before continuing. "At the risk of sounding unprofessional," she said slowly, "the Ministry are still concerned about your allegiance to Voldemort."

Malfoy inhaled sharply, in shock that she had said the name or because of the implication of her words, she was not sure.

"It is a common belief that you are not to be trusted." Hermione took a deep breath. "It is my opinion that they are hoping either an insufficient answer, or an outburst of aggression like the one you've just displayed, will prove their original verdict.

Malfoy was breathing heavily now, the sound reverberating around the room.

"That you're guilty…" Hermione added, almost as an afterthought.

"Is that why they sent you then, Granger?"

Hermione blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Did they send you, knowing that, given our history, you'd be the perfect person to put the Big Bad Draco Malfoy back where he belongs?" His voice was low, but it shook with underlying anger.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Hermione squared her shoulders. "The way we interacted with each other at Hogwarts is ancient history as far as I'm concerned. Surely you're not still hanging on to a silly school yard grudge?"

His eyes flashed dangerously and a deep growl rumbled in his chest.

"Get out," he hissed.

Hermione stood her ground. "Mister Malfoy, I must insist that we continue this meeting. I meant what I said; the Ministry is looking for any excuse to throw you back in Azkaban."

"Let them," he growled, advancing towards her. "I want you out of my house, right now."

Hermione felt a pang of panic ignite in her chest. If he doesn't answer this question, the last five years have been for nought. Anger quickly replaced the panic, and she stood to face him. She narrowed her eyes and brought her hands to her hips. Malfoy seemed to understand the shift in her stance and squared his shoulders as if to prepare for the onslaught; welcome it, even.

"Well unlucky for you, Malfoy," she spat his name as if it physically hurt her to pronounce it, "I have a job to do, and I will not leave here until I've done it." Malfoy swore he could see the crackling energy as it vibrated in the loose strands of her hair. He matched her icy stare as he retorted.

"I don't give a pixie's dick about your stupid case file, Granger."

"Well that's too bad," she said, her eyes still hard and her voice sickly sweet, "because if you choose not to answer the last question, your arse will once again belong to the Dementors!"

Hermione saw his eyes flash – with fear? Before she could confirm it, the grey orbs were once again steely and withdrawn.

"I'm not going to answer your question." His voice was steadier, but his nails were cutting into the palm of his hands and he spoke through gritted teeth. "Write whatever you want in that file," he nodded robotically towards the forgotten notes littering the armchair and floor. Hermione followed his gaze towards her folders and allowed herself a small sigh. Her hands relaxed slightly and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that when she opened them she would wake up from this terrible nightmare. Forcing them open again, she took a step towards the folders and began gathering her work.

"I won't answer." Malfoy repeated.

Hermione finished collecting the loose pieces of parchment and turned slowly back to face him, her features schooled into a blank mask of indifference. Slinging her purse over her shoulder she shrugged nonchalantly and lazily allowed her gaze to rove over Malfoy's form, starting with his feet. She was pleased when she finally reached his face and saw that he looked somewhat apprehensive.

"It's your funeral, Malfoy." Hermione said quietly as she strode past him and back down the hallway Miksy had led her. Hermione pushed against the doors, relieved beyond words that they opened and granted her escape. As her feet hit the flagstone ground she began to run. She ran until she reached the apparition point beyond the high gates. Ignoring the stitch in her side, Hermione turned on her heel without slowing her pace, and was gone.


	2. Vivienne Weasley

Apparating had never been one of Hermione’s favourite things about the magical world, but she did prefer it to Floo Powder and broomsticks. As her feet touched solid ground, she stumbled slightly and threw her left hand out for balance. 

“Oof! Watch where you’re – oh, hey, Hermione!” A young man with dark hair and a stocky build caught her hand as it collided with his chest, helping her to remain upright. “What are you doing here?” He dusted the back of her robe, “Aren’t you scheduled for a meeting until eleven?” 

His eyes were the lightest blue and his lips twitched beneath a light smattering of stubble. Atticus Walden was her assistant, and he was as nosey as the readers of Rita Skeeter’s gossip columns. Hermione rolled her eyes to the sky as she adjusted her stack of files and turned to face the entry of the Ministry of Magic. The narrow alleyway was bustling with fellow witches and wizards, most carrying briefcases; one witch with acid-green hair was pulling along a suitcase. 

“It ended early,” she muttered, brushing a stray hair back. She refused to look at him as they fell into step beside one another, following the thinning stream of workers. They marched in silence for a few steps before Hermione stopped. Atticus was almost at the entrance before he realised and turned around. He came jogging back towards her, an exasperated look in his cool eyes. 

“Can you take these to my office, please?” Without waiting for a response, she dumped the files into his arms and had pivoted on her heel. 

“Wait, where are you - ?” Atticus called, fumbling with the loose sheets of parchment that were trying to escape their binds. Hermione didn’t turn around, but raised her right arm and pointed towards the café across the road, looking like she was trying to do an Egyptian style dance. “Oh, sure!” Atticus muttered sarcastically. He knew better than to purposefully rile Hermione up; he’d been on the receiving end of her wrath only a handful of times, but the lesson had certainly sunk in. With an exaggerated sigh, he turned and stomped towards the Ministry entrance. 

Armed with a sugar-coated pastry, Hermione arrived at her office at the Ministry of Magic fifteen minutes later and slumped into her chair, allowing her head to fall into her hands. She allowed her lungs to fill completely with air to the count of six, and then she held for two, exhaled for six. Inhale six, hold two, exhaled six. She repeated this several times until she felt her frayed nerves begin to right themselves. She knew she would pay for having the last say; though she hadn’t seen Draco Malfoy since the final battle just over five years ago, they had spent the majority of their school lives together. She knew enough about the spoilt, self-entitled little brat to support her theory that he would seek revenge for her remark this morning. She sighed again and felt a little more energy escape from her body. Though she was decidedly calmer, any encounter with Malfoy was always emotionally draining. What she wouldn’t give for a long nap right now. 

Hermione took another bite from her pastry and set it back down on the napkin to her right. She was just opening the Malfoy file when there was a knock at her door. Her head snapped up and she chewed furiously, working hard to clear her mouth enough to call “come in”. Before she could utter the words, the door opened and a familiar face appeared around it; a shock of jet black hair and a pair of emerald green eyes hidden behind round spectacles. 

“Harry,” Hermione relaxed as she finally managed to swallow the last of her mouthful of sticky pastry. She stood, still running her tongue over her teeth to clear any evidence of her treat. She stepped around from behind her desk and moved to embrace her friend. 

“How did it go?” Harry asked, hugging her back with one hand as the other pushed the door shut. Hermione sighed again. 

“As you’d expect,” she rubbed a hand over her forehead; a headache was forming and she willed it away. “He hasn’t changed much.” Though as the words fell from her mouth, she wasn’t sure she believed them…at least not entirely. 

Hermione moved back towards her desk and re-took her seat. She waved a hand to indicate that Harry should sit in the chair opposite. He did so, moving his robes gracefully. He crossed one leg over the other and eyed her with something akin to pride. After a moment of silence he chuckled and shook his head, as if he’d told a joke and she’d missed the punchline. Finally, Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione cut him off. 

“I have no idea why I was given his case, of all cases,” she huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I mean I know why, but still,” she squinted at him, as if to make a point and Harry nodded sagely. The dark haired wizard uncrossed his legs and leant forward so that his elbows were leaning on the desk. He looked down at the wooden piece of furniture as he spoke.

“That’s actually what I came in here to talk to you about.”

Hermione blinked and she uncrossed her arms. “What?” Her heart sank and she mirrored his stance, allowing her elbows to rest on the desk in front of her. She ducked her head to get a better read of his expression.

“Vivienne sent me to talk to you,” Harry winced as thunder rolled across Hermione’s face. 

“Oh, she did, did she?” Hermione’s voice was an octave too high, and just above a whisper. A sardonic smile played at the corners of her mouth and she pushed herself backwards so she was relaxing back in her chair. Harry swallowed audibly; even when the wrath wasn’t directed at him, an angry Hermione was not a situation one could take lightly. He straightened up, but was still unable to meet her gaze. 

“Yes,” he hesitated before continuing. “…she would like to see you regarding the meeting you had with Malfoy this morning.”

“She would, would she?” Hermione was not moving, sitting as though made of marble. Harry would have sworn her mouth didn’t move as she spoke, despite the articulation of her words. 

“Something about not getting all the information you needed?” Harry muttered. 

Hermione snorted, her eyes bulging. “How can she know that? I’ve been back all of fifteen minutes!” The witch stood and planted her hands either side of the Malfoy file on her desk. “She is unbelievable! Unbelievable…” her eyes flashed and she exhaled loudly through her nostrils. 

“You know what she’s like,” Harry raised an eyebrow and stood to meet Hermione’s gaze. 

“And to ask you to come and get me!” Hermione flung her arms wide and stared at Harry as if just seeing him for the first time. Her hands landed on her hips, and Harry was reminded of the uncanny resemblance between Hermione and Mrs Weasley. The irony was not lost on the wizard, but he swallowed a rue smile. “She now has the Aurors at her beck and call, does she?” 

Harry took a step back. “Well, actually, we were in the area…”

“We?” Hermione’s eyes narrowed and she took a step to her right, as if she was going to walk around the table and hex him. Harry took a step back, palms raised, and opened his mouth to explain, but he was interrupted. 

Another knock came from the other side of her door, but Hermione did not have a chance to call out that she was a little busy at present before the door swung open forcefully and Ronald Weasley swaggered into the room. He had grown into a handsome man; tall, still ginger-haired, but now broad shouldered and muscly in all the right places. Hermione felt her hands ball into fists. He met her eyes for a fraction of a second, and offered her a stiff nod before turning his attention to Harry. 

“Alright, mate?” He twisted his wand between his hands. “Ready to move on?”

Harry nodded at Ron and threw a pointed glance at Hermione. Ron looked at the floor. Hermione seethed. As she opened her mouth to speak, her gaze focused solely on the red headed wizard who had just burst unbidden into her office, but Harry interjected. 

“See you soon, Hermione,” he said quietly. 

Hermione swallowed and nodded in response, not trusting herself to speak. He offered her a half-hearted smile which she could not bring herself to return. Her features felt stiff and her heart was thudding a staccato in her ears.

The men swept from the room silently, their robes billowing behind them. Hermione fell into her chair again, this time allowing her head to thud painfully on to her desk. She whimpered in frustration, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes, her throat full of razors. She sat like that for a while before forcing herself back into a standing position and gathering her files. She arranged them meticulously, made sure her blouse and skirt were wrinkle-free, before exiting her office with a flick of her wand to close and lock the door behind her. 

She marched down the hallway, pausing briefly to say hello to some of her colleagues, before she made it to the door at the end. The others in the department were made of cheap wood, painted black with a simple banner with the occupant’s name. This door was made of intricately carved mahogany, and the gold name plaque stated that this was Vivienne Weasley’s office. Hermione took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. 

“You are strong. You are in control.” She chanted before reaching for the door handle with a shaking hand. 

“Hermione,” a sickly sweet voice greeted her. Vivienne Weasley was sitting behind a long desk made from dark wood and embossed with gold. She wore her straw-coloured hair in a tight chignon, though the almost black colour of her eyes and the chocolate colour of her eyebrows suggested she was not naturally blonde. Her wide mouth was stretched in a smile, her lips a bright pink and her straight teeth impossibly white. She stood as Hermione entered and stretched a thin, manicured hand across the desk. Hermione grasped it reluctantly. 

“Vivienne,” Hermione sniffed, releasing her hand as soon as it was polite to do so. 

“I’ve told you to call me Mrs Weasley,” Vivienne chided, taking her seat and arching a brow at Hermione. She folded her arms in front of her and offered Hermione a patented smirk. Hermione tilted her chin upwards. 

“Molly Weasley is Mrs Weasley,” she shot back, ice in her voice. Before Vivienne could respond, Hermione continued. “I heard you wanted to see me.”

Vivienne’s smirk broadened and she sat back in her chair, an air of nonchalance settling around her person. “Have a seat.”

Hermione sat with the files in her lap and looked at her boss, and forced her facial features into a blank expression. Vivienne made a show of straightening the already straight stationery on her desk and cleared her throat, as if she was struggling to find the right words. Hermione knew better; she was trying to make Hermione as uncomfortable as possible. It angered the brunette to know it was working, too. 

“Hermione,” Vivienne simpered, looking more like a goldfish in a wig than the two-time Witch Weekly cover model she had been in her teenage years. “I heard that there were some issues with getting some rather important information from Draco Malfoy this morning?”

“It was just one question – about his parents – that he was reluctant to answer, but – “

Vivienne held up her hand, her nasty smirk back in place. “And why wouldn’t he answer you, Hermione?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed and a burning raged began to simmer in her gut. She clenched her fists as they rested on her knees, and she was glad Vivienne could not see them. “How do you even know this?” She hissed, instantly regretting her outburst. Vivienne’s smirk widened and she chuckled softly. The blonde witch clasped her hands together, a large diamond ring flashing gaudily in the well-lit room. Hermione felt her stomach roll and she swallowed hard, praying that she would not vomit on her boss. 

Vivienne cocked her head to the side, watching Hermione’s struggle. She continued to hold Hermione’s gaze as she reached into her desk draw and pulled out a stack of papers. They were identical to the folders Hermione had carried into the office moments before. Vivienne opened the top folder. 

“An exact replica,” Vivienne stated as she leafed through the papers, “of your case files. The instant you arrived back to the Ministry, I knew you hadn’t completed your task.” She glanced briefly to the whiteboard to her right, where a large chart had been drawn up to show where all the Magical Law Enforcement employees were at any given moment. Hermione fought the desire to roll her eyes. “Now, tell me what the problem is.” 

Hermione ground her teeth together. “I don’t know,” Hermione took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper in check, “I don’t think he was too keen on the idea of talking about his parents.”

“Well, you’ll have to go back there.” Vivienne pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, as if daring Hermione to argue with her. Hermione fought an internal battle. On the one hand, she knew going back to Malfoy Manor would be futile, at least for today anyway. On the other, she knew that if she told Vivienne she couldn’t do it, she would be giving the blonde an immense feeling of satisfaction and quite frankly, Hermione couldn’t live with that option. 

“When?” 

“Tomorrow.”

“It’s Saturday!” Hermione instantly regretted her outburst; Vivienne smiled cruelly. “I’m supposed to be having brunch with Harry and Ginny,” she tried again, calmer this time. 

“I’m aware,” Vivienne said simply. Hermione felt her neck heat, a slow burn from her throat making its way up to her cheeks. 

“My next appointment with Draco Malfoy is next Friday,” Hermione’s tone was curt, but she spoke as low as possible. “I don’t see how going back tomorrow will do any good.”

Vivienne appeared to have grown bored. She pulled a stack of papers towards her and picked up her quill. She spoke as she wrote. 

“I’m doing you a favour, Hermione,” she said softly, “because you’re a friend of Ronnie’s,” Hermione blanched and felt her stomach twist; she hoped again that she wouldn’t be sick. “But don’t think I’ll let you off as lightly next time.” 

A few seconds passed in silence, Hermione sitting in shock and burning with rage, while Vivienne continued to write, ignorant of the fact the brunette woman was glaring daggers into the top of her head. 

“You may go,” Vivienne waved a hand lazily before guiding it back to her ink pot. 

“Thank you,” Hermione said mechanically, and rose from her chair. 

She hurried back to her own, much smaller office, and threw the files across her desk so that they slid off the other side. She slammed her door, cast a quick silencing charm, and screamed a long, low howl of frustration, before throwing herself into her chair. It skidded backwards and hit the bookshelf behind it. Hermione took two steadying deep breaths, her back straight and her arms plastered to the rests on the chair. She counted as she inhaled, and exhaled. When she had calmed slightly, she waved her wand to rearrange the papers neatly, and un-silenced her room. 

She sat gingerly in her chair, her shoulders back as if to force some poise into her otherwise tumultuous morning. Hermione reached slowly for a piece of parchment and a quill, and wrote furiously, as if she were paying homage to her Charms O.W.Ls. She signed off with a flourish, and sauntered down to the Owlery to send her letter. Brushing her hands together, she gave herself a satisfied nod before returning to her office and burying herself under a pile of paper work until 6pm. 

At Malfoy Manor, Draco had been pacing. As soon as Granger had left, he had retired to his bedroom and shouted himself hoarse at no one. A few portraits that hung outside his door had called to him, but what advice they had offered, he had not heard. Miksy had come to fetch him for dinner, but he had shooed her away and continued his rant, his throat now very sore. When his meal appeared a few minutes later on a silver tray, he sighed and resigned himself to the fact that raging like a thirteen year old probably wasn’t the way to deal with his problems. Especially as now there was no one to listen to him, given that his parents were both still locked away in Azkaban. That thought brought with it the desire to return to screaming, but he wisely decided against it. 

Instead, he stalked over to the small dining table that had been set up in his suite and began his evening meal. As he was enjoying his main course, a barn owl had arrived at his window and sat hooting expectantly at him until he had thrown down his napkin and stalked over to accept the letter tied to its foot. 

Mr Malfoy,

I apologise for the way our meeting went this morning. If it is okay with you, I would like to return to complete the formality properly. How is 9am tomorrow for you? Let me know by return owl. 

Hermione Granger  
Case Worker  
Department of Magical Law Enforcement

He scrunched up the parchment and threw it as hard as he could against the opposite wall. He returned to his meal and ignored the owl as it hooted incessantly for the next three hours. Finally, it gave up and it flew away. Draco smirked, feeling that he had won an unofficial battle between himself and Hermione Granger. 

He told himself he didn’t care whether the witch turned up on his door step or not tomorrow, or whether she appeared every day for the next month! Of course, the truth was that he did mind, but he wasn’t going to let her bully him into talking about his parents, whatever tactics she decided to pull. His good mood vanished at the thought of his parents, and darkened still as another barn owl pecked at his living room window later that evening. It was a shorter note, written in tiny print on the corner of an old Daily Prophet article. It looked as though it had been written with a stick coated in dirt. 

Draco,

I don’t know. 

L.M


	3. Old Wounds

The next morning, Hermione begrudgingly dragged herself out of bed before 7am. She sent an owl to Harry and Ginny, explaining that she would have to take a raincheck on brunch as Vivienne had her working overtime. She briefly wondered if she'd be paid extra for the additional hours she was putting in, but scoffed at the idea before it could fully form. Unlikely, she thought. Vivienne would argue that it was simply completing an assignment she hadn't managed in her actual work hours. With a roll of her eyes and a long stretch, Hermione trudged into the bathroom to make herself look presentable.

Nearly two hours later, she was dressed in a simple pair of beige trousers with a navy blue blouse, and matching robes. She had considered dressing in her usual weekend getup of jeans and a sweater, but she figured provoking Malfoy any more than was warranted was probably not a wise career move. As she walked slowly across the stone driveway of Malfoy Manor, and a tingly sense of déjà vu crept unpleasantly up her spine. She shivered involuntarily despite the mild weather and clutched her folders closer to her chest.

As she approached the front door, Miksy appeared dressed in the same tea towel. The little elf bowed low as she had done the day before and bid Hermione welcome. Hermione smiled and thanked her in return, before following Miksy up the front steps into the vast entrance hall. Hermione was led to the same room as yesterday; once again it was dark, but this time Malfoy was waiting in an armchair. Tea had already been laid, and her charge was holding a floral-patterned cup. He smirked as she entered the room, but did not make any move to greet or welcome her.

Hermione took her seat across from him and shuffled her papers to give her hands something to do. Something about Draco Malfoy had always made her feel unsettled, and she was annoyed that she couldn't shake the feeling after all these years. She was here because he'd served time in Azkaban for crimes committed in the War, and yet she felt as though she were the one under constant scrutiny. After a few minutes of absently flicking through pages and triple-checking that they were in order, Hermione could put the meeting off no longer. She cleared her throat and Malfoy brought his gaze to hers, unblinking and expressionless.

"Mister Malfoy," she began, "I am here because I have been instructed to complete the meeting we were unable to finish yesterday. I trust you got my letter?"

Malfoy scoffed and sank back against the chair, his tea still perched in his hand. He crossed one leg lazily over the other so that his foot rested on his knee, and he raised an eyebrow at Hermione, waiting for her to continue. Hermione noticed as he shifted in his seat that he was wearing muggle jeans and a mint green polo shirt. She fought the urge to shake him. Vivienne would be looking for any excuse to lock her in the office with a mountain of paperwork and filing, so instead she tightened her grip on her papers.

"Unfortunately, it is part of the agreement that your lawyer forged with the ministry that you would answer all the questions pertaining to your case after you were released – "

"A lawyer I didn't ask for," he bit back. "A lawyer I don't even know!"

"Regardless," Hermione's heart rate sped up and she feared Malfoy may hear it, "it is part of agreement they arranged, and it is absolutely binding."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward to place his tea cup on the table in front of him. His hair, longer and looser than it had been when they had attended Hogwarts, fell across his right eye. Malfoy stayed leaning forward, his leg falling from his knee so he could rest his elbows there. He leaned his head to the side as he took Hermione in, his gaze raking from her sensible flat shoes to the messy bun she had forced her wild curls into this morning. Though she could only just make out his silhouette and the way his eyes moved, glowing in the dim candlelight, Hermione had the impression that Malfoy was able to see all too well in the dark.

"You're a lawyer, aren't you, Granger?" His voice was soft and held none of the previous bite, but Hermione wasn't about to drop her guard.

"I'm a case worker for the Department of Magical Law En-"

Malfoy waved his hand impatiently. "You're a lawyer."

Hermione blinked. What was his point? She forced herself to meet his gaze, though her eyes watered at the intensity of his stare. She willed herself not to squirm as his cold grey orbs swirled with fire. "I'm a case worker," she finally said, just as quietly as he had spoken.

"Same thing," he frowned in concentration as he leaned back in his chair. His tone held a sense of finality, but of what Hermione could not place. She let out a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding as he shifted his gaze to a point above her left shoulder.

"Well," she cleared her throat and looked down at her notes again, "if we can get back to the matter at hand…"

"I don't see how it's anyone's business."

Hermione had to fight a smile; though his tone was sharp and business-like, his face was almost petulant, like a child who had been denied sweets. "I'm afraid the ministry feels that it is…their business, I mean." She sighed as Malfoy shot her a look of contempt. "It's not my rule, Mister Malfoy. I'm just here to do my job."

"I don't care about your job, Granger." He snapped.

"Do you care about your freedom?" Hermione snapped back, unable to bite down on her temper. "A fine way to repay your lawyer, getting yourself sent back to Azkaban because of one stupid question!" He blinked at her twice, and then his lip curled into a sneer.

"You call this freedom?" He gestured widely around the dark sitting room. "I'm under house arrest," he said through clenched teeth, "in case you hadn't noticed. I'm not exactly gallivanting around London. I've been locked in a filthy cage for the better part of the last five years, because the Ministry had to make an example out of any and everyone who had deigned to put a toe across their hypocritical line during the War. And again," his hands had balled into fists still resting on his knees, "I don't have a lawyer; not one I know, anyway." Malfoy seemed to realise he had said a little too much as he looked into Hermione's face and caught her look of concern. He exhaled loudly. "As you were saying?"

"As I was saying," Hermione fought to control her voice. Part of her wanted to throttle the blond man in front of her, and the other just wanted to run. "I need you to answer the final question. As soon as you do, I'll be out of your hair." She had adopted a false, cheery voice that made Draco's skin crawl. His scowl slipped easily over his impassive face and he spoke in a slow, deliberate growl.

"I will not answer you."

"Mister Malfoy, I must insist that you – "

"No!" He stood abruptly and towered over her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Hermione shrank back instinctively. His breath was ragged and his chest heaved as though he might be ill at any moment. His eyes squeezed shut for a few moments and Hermione began to unfurl herself from her seat. She had opened her mouth to reiterate her purpose for being in his sitting room when his eyes flew open, an unbridled rage evident in his grey irises. "How about I insist on asking a few questions of my own?" He leered down at her and moved slowly until he was hovering above the brunette witch, his hands resting on either side of her on the arms of the chair.

"Wh-what do you want to know?" Hermione stammered as she clutched her quill tighter. She cursed herself for leaving her wand in her bag, which was sitting on the floor at her feet.

"Why are you here, Granger?" He breathed.

Hermione's mind reeled. What did he mean why was she here?

"You know why – "

"I know what your job entails. But why did you choose this case? Why did you choose me?" His breath was warm across her face, their noses impossible close. He smelt of expensive cologne, earthy and masculine.

"I didn't choose – "

"Lies," Malfoy whispered, inching his face closer to hers. He noticed her shudder once, probably from revulsion. He smirked.

"I didn't choose!" She met his gaze, a fierce determination reflected in her brown eyes. "I was assigned your case."

"And who do I have to thank for that privilege?" He raked his gaze over her hairline, down the bridge of her nose, and let it rest on her plump lips. It had been so long since he had been anywhere near a woman, and although this was Hermione Granger; annoying swot and brown-nosed sidekick of Pain-in-the-arse Potter, she was still a woman. He forced his gaze back to hers as she answered him.

"Vivienne Weasley," Hermione said softly. Her heart was beating wildly against her ribcage. She wasn't sure if it was from fear or anger; why was he so close?

"Weasley? Hmmm," Malfoy pulled back slowly. "Married one of those animals, did she?"

Hermione felt her face flush crimson and her knuckles crack as she clenched them by her side. Her eyes flashed dangerously and Draco swore he heard her teeth grind together.

"No way," Malfoy breathed as realisation dawned. A slow, cruel smile spread across his pointed features, "She married your weasel, didn't she?"

Hermione dropped her gaze to her knees and willed the stinging sensation behind her eyelids to disappear.

"Holy shit!" He roared, clutching his stomach as his body shook with laughter. "And you work for her?"

Hermione sat very still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking up. As his mirth subsided, the evil smirk once again graced his features.

"Why?"

"Why what, Malfoy?" Hermione had found her Gryffindor courage, and snapped her head up to glare at him through glassy eyes.

"Why did he leave you for…Vanessa? Or whatever her name is."

"Vivienne," Hermione ground out. "And it's none of your business." Snippets of her unpleasant past flashed through her mind like an old reel of film, the hues grossly saturated and the action distorted. No she told herself firmly, forcing the images from her mind, not now.

"Tell you what," Hermione heard the swish of denim as Malfoy resumed his seat. "If you answer my question, I'll answer yours."

Hermione made a noise of derision through her nose. She may not think Draco Malfoy was guilty of anything more than wanting the same thing as she had during the war, but he was still a lying bastard; she wasn't about to let him get away with playing these sorts of games.

"You're sick, Malfoy," she spat, "you know that?"

"I've been told once or twice."

Hermione sighed and narrowed her eyes. "It's none of your business," she said simply.

"Then I'm afraid I can't give you what you want." 

Hermione felt the frustration boil over in her chest and work its way up until it constricted her throat. She could not believe that someone could be so arrogant given all that he had been through.

"I must insist - "

"Oh, fuck off, Granger." From what she could see, his expression held no sign of delight in her discomfort now, and his eyes had grown cold. "Send me back to the Dementors; I'm really not that concerned. What's the difference, really?" 

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione deadpanned. "Running water, a warm bed, not feeling like shit twenty-four hours a day."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she had gone too far. Hermione sensed him tense in his seat, and heard the crunch of his back teeth as he gnashed them together.  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, chagrin evident in her voice. "I shouldn't have - "

"Save it," he snarled. "Just leave me alone."

Hermione swallowed thickly, detecting the defeat in his voice. She knew it would be useless to argue, and she felt tears threaten at the corner of her eyes. In a move she would later reflect on as one of the more reckless decisions of her life, she stood and took a deep breath. The movement caused the candle to flicker dangerously, and for a brief moment, his features were thrown into the light.

"He cheated on me," she stated. "Ron, he...he cheated on me."

Malfoy did not look up, though Hermione saw a flicker of emotion cross his features for less than a second. He snorted.

"Finally figured out he could do better? Good for him," he drawled. As he trailed off, he lazily met her gaze again.

Hermione's eyes widened and she felt her face flush with embarrassment and anger. She grit her teeth as she stooped quickly to gather her files and pick up her bag.

"Fine," she said, more to herself than Malfoy.

She slung the strap across her shoulder before turning and marching towards the front door. She thought she heard him call after her, but the ringing in her ears made it impossible to know for sure. All she could think about was getting past the gate and the wards so she could apparate home.

***

Later that night as she sat on her couch with Crookshanks, Hermione thought back to the events of the morning. Why had she let Malfoy do that to her? She preferred not to think about what had transpired between her and Ronald Weasley; she had not properly dealt with her grief, she knew that. Still, it was Malfoy, the boy who had thrown worse taunts at her during their school years. Why had she stormed out like he'd offended her? She tried telling herself it was because it was still a raw wound, one that was opened on a daily basis as she dealt with both Ron and Vivienne at work. She told herself that it was because she was about to cry, and no amount of forgetfulness potion would ever be able to erase the humiliation of sobbing in front of Draco sodding Malfoy. She wished she could believe herself, but a nagging voice in the back of her mind kept telling her that she was lying.

She had been working tirelessly for the past five years in order to achieve the near-on impossible. Even working beneath Vivienne had not deterred her on the path towards her goal and now it had finally been met, and she could feel it all going to hell in a handbasket all because of the stupid prat himself.

She knew Draco Malfoy was far from innocent, even if he and his family had defected before the Final Battle in May of 1998. He was a spoiled brat, a bully, and one of her worst tormentors. But she also knew that he had been a child without much of a choice, just like Harry, when the Second Wizarding War began. She could not help, even as a teenager, but feel sorry for him as his actions confirmed a desire to protect his family, at whatever cost. Though she knew he had to pay for his crimes, she did not believe the Malfoy heir deserved jail time.

The Wizengamot had thought differently, and 'made an example out of him', as he had suggested to her today. Hermione had spoken at his trial. She had tried to convince Harry to testify as well, but he was concerned that he'd be asked to all the Death Eater trials should he agree, and Hermione had understood that he wanted a quiet life – well, as quiet as possible. Without the word of The Boy Who Lived, Hermione's case was not as strong. She failed in freeing Malfoy, and decided to pursue a career that would allow her to support those who had been wronged on both sides of the war in order to realise her goal.

Why she was so hung up on Malfoy in particular she had never been able to pinpoint. Maybe it was because she still felt like she had something to prove; perhaps it was because she wanted to beat him at one more thing; or maybe it was because he was the youngest Death Eater to be locked up and she couldn't bare the idea that one of their generation would have to face a life behind bars, after all they fought for.

Malfoy had been right. She was a lawyer, though that was not technically her title. She often fought cases on behalf of clients in front of the Wizengamot, but she had not lied when she said she was a case worker. It just happened that she had been the witch who had orchestrated Malfoy's release from Azkaban, even if it had taken almost half a decade to accomplish. The devil was in the detail, and she planned on keeping the details away from Malfoy.

Hermione rolled over on the couch and pressed her face into a cushion. Her stomach swooped as she remembered she had once again failed to get the information she had been sent to gather, and she growled into the pillow. Rolling back to her side, she sighed and scratched Crookshanks behind the ear. Hermione wondered who would take over the case now that she would surely be sent to the lower levels of the department to do menial labour. She wondered if they'd be able to get him to answer the damn question, and then she wondered if she hoped they would succeed or fail.

Anger spiked in her chest, at Malfoy and at Vivienne…and then at Ron, for being such a prat in the first place. As her rage simmered, it focused on her red-headed ex-friend and lover. While Malfoy and Vivienne both had a knack for making her feel worthless, it had been Ron who had given her the most practice at feeling like she was nothing.

Of course, it hadn't all been bad. When they had first made their relationship official, the war had just ended. Ron had been the same caring, loyal friend and boyfriend he had always been underneath the layers of jealousy and pig-headedness. But a few months into the aftermath, Ron began to change. Suddenly, he was in the spotlight. He was sought after by almost every department in the Ministry. Everyone wanted to have a drink with him. Girls wanted to have sex with him. He was famous, rich, and he loved it.

It wasn't long before he gave in to several girls who sought to pleasure him. Hermione would wake up alone more often than not, and he never told her where he had been, although she had sneaking suspicions he had not been working late at the office; not unless his secretary was working back, too.

Hermione had been about to break up with Ron when Harry gave him a boxing around the ears. This intervention seemed to mellow Ron somewhat, and their relationship improved. Ron proposed on September 1st; "it was on this day eleven years ago we met on the Hogwarts Express…" Hermione had accepted, truly believing that it would work out between them after all.

A year later, it was their wedding day. They had decided to hold it at a hotel in Wizarding London, and both had stayed in separate rooms the night before, keeping with muggle tradition. The morning of the big day, Hermione had left her room to collect the flowers from the foyer with her mother, Mrs Weasley, and Ginny. As they returned, their arms laden with a bundle of bouquets, Hermione noticed moaning coming from the room she knew Ron to be in. Pausing to make sure she wasn't imagining it, she heard a familiar voice; "Harder, Ron! Harder!"

She had dropped the flowers and pushed open the door with Ginny on her heels, to find Ron pumping furiously into Vivienne from behind. Days later, Hermione had found out Ron and Vivienne had met at a Christmas party at the Ministry and had been having an affair for more than two years.

Hermione had turned on her heel and fled, and she heard from Harry that after her departure, Ron had asked Vivienne to marry him that day instead. And here they were; Vivienne, her boss, married to her ex-fiancé.

Hermione sighed, pulling herself out of her depressing reverie. "Come on, Crookshanks," she forced herself up off the couch and stretched. "Time for bed."


	4. So Close, Yet So Far

The rest of the weekend passed far too quickly for Hermione's liking; all too soon it was Monday morning and she was landing at the Apparition point outside the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. She had arrived at the same time as Atticus, as normal, and Hermione fell in to step with him easily as they made their way towards the building. He was chatting about his latest romantic endeavour; a wizard from Barcelona, seven years his junior. She gasped in all the right places, but he could tell her heart wasn't in it.

"What's wrong?" Atticus asked, pursing his lips and leaning against the door frame of her office as she entered it. She sighed as she fell into her chair, her hands twisted in her lap.

"I'm afraid I couldn't get Draco Malfoy to talk on Saturday," she muttered, speaking to the bookshelf on her right. "He wouldn't answer the last question; the one about his parents. Vivienne is going to have me acting like a glorified intern." Atticus snorted and Hermione shot him a look. He rolled his eyes in response and pushed himself off the doorframe.

"Like she could do any better," he scoffed, turning himself so he could half-sit on her desk. "She can't send you to filing over one and a half meetings; he's just been released from Azkaban for Merlin's sake!"

Hermione shrugged and began arranging her files. "Well, she threatened me on Friday; said something about me going back to filing if I couldn't get the answers by the end of the weekend."

Atticus made a noise of derision through his nose. "I'm sure you'd be well within your rights to appeal that kind of decision given the circumstances."

It was Hermione's turn to scoff. "Don't be stupid, Atticus," she said warily, "her father is so far up the arse of the department, I'd be surprised if I had a job at the end of it."

Atticus folded his arms across his chest but did not respond. Hermione sighed again. "It doesn't matter. I'm just going to keep my head down until she comes looking for me. You better go; I have a stack of reports to write, Malfoy's being the first." She grimaced around the name, but resigned herself to focus on the parchment in front of her.

Atticus slowly moved himself from her desk and offered her a small smile she didn't see as her head was bent over the Malfoy file. The door clicked quietly behind him and plunged Hermione into a silence that hung in the room like damp air. She was determined to ignore it, so set about re-writing all the notes she had taken at Malfoy Manor over the two meetings, and then writing them out long-hand. She could not understand why he would not answer the question about his parents, but she forced her hand to create the words "declined comment" under the appropriate section.

At quarter to one, Harry's appearance forced her to sign, date, and submit the folder. Her green-eyed friend smiled as he entered around her door, quickly closing it again behind himself. Hermione's eyes narrowed when she took in his sheepish appearance.

"You're not here on behalf of Vivienne, are you?"

"What?" Harry blinked, and then realisation dawned on his face. "Oh, that," he smiled sheepishly. "No, no, I'm not here to give you bad news. I just wanted to see how you are."

Hermione softened and she allowed her shoulders to slump just a little. "I've written up Malfoy's report, but it's still lacking the answer the Ministry is most desperate to know."

"If anyone can get Malfoy to talk, it's you, Hermione." Harry offered her an encouraging smile, and for a split second Hermione wanted to beam back at him. Instead, her face fell and she bit her bottom lip.

"I don't think so," she leant back against her chair and raised her gaze to the ceiling. "He's so stubborn – even more so than I am – ," she looked back at Harry, who offered her half a smirk, "but he's not going to tell me." She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed a hand over her face.

"Does he know that you – "

"No," Hermione said curtly, and Harry snapped his mouth shut. He offered her a stiff nod. "And I'm not going to tell him, I don't want to jeopardise this case."

"Fair point," Harry agreed. "So, brunch this weekend?" An easy smile spread across his face, and Hermione tried to return it.

"Sounds lovely to me. How is Ginny?"

"She's good," Harry nodded and took a step backwards. "I have to go now; I just popped in to make sure you were okay." He cocked his head to the side and assessed her. Hermione rolled her eyes and schooled her features into a look of polite exasperation.

"I'm fine, Harry. Tell Ginny I look forward to seeing you both on Saturday."

"Great," Harry nodded again, and then disappeared back down the hallway. Hermione's eyes flickered to the clock above the door as it snapped shut. She knew she should take a break, but she didn't feel much like eating. She sighed and pulled another, much thinner, folder towards her.

Hermione had several cases at once, but none as important as Draco Malfoy's. None as difficult, either she thought with a mirthless laugh. Her primary focus was to orchestrate Malfoy's full release within the next six months. She knew she had to get him to answer the damn question; otherwise it was a life time in prison for him and five years of wasted effort for her. She sighed again as she tried to force her thoughts back to the case at hand, a Mister Wagner who had been fined just over one thousand galleons for trespassing on a private dwelling owned by the Nott family.

It was odd, she mused as she went over the witness statements again, making notes here and there; it was odd she should continue to run into the names of old schoolmates (or school foes, in some instances) as she handled the more 'meaty' cases. Hermione smirked behind her quill as she found a piece of information that might be useful.

Vivienne thought that by giving Hermione the less-desirable and more work-intensive cases, she was somehow winning. The blonde witch had obviously not bothered to ask her cousins, the Greengrass sisters, or her husband, about Hermione at all. For that, Hermione was grateful.

Hermione continued to work until 6pm, when Atticus came to collect her for their nightly stroll down to the Floo fireplaces on the bottom level. Atticus picked up where they left off this morning, explaining how he had received three owls from his new beau today, and that they should really set up a date for Hermione to meet him. Hermione offered a non-committal grunt; she didn't liaise with co-workers outside the office, as a rule. As they reached the fireplaces, Hermione bid Atticus goodnight, trying not to sound too relieved, and quickly stepped through the first empty grate.

When she arrived home, she fell onto the couch and congratulated herself on surviving a day without seeing Vivienne. She fell asleep quickly, a small smile on her lips.

Unfortunately, Tuesday was not as kind to Hermione. Vivienne entered her office not ten minutes after she arrived, demanding to see the Malfoy report. Hermione handed it over without a word before conjuring a coffee out of thin air. She didn't have a habit of drinking coffee, but it would be required if she was to get through this meeting with Vivienne in one piece.

"This is unfinished," Vivienne observed, though her tone betrayed a note of triumph.

"I returned on Saturday as requested," Hermione spoke in a monotone. "He was unwilling to speak of his parents. But surely you knew that," she tried and failed to halt the smirk threatening at the corner of her lips. "From the copy you keep in your desk?"

Vivienne's cheeks tinted pink, but she did not comment.

"That is disappointing. I did warn you, Hermione." She looked up from the parchment and turned her dark eyes on the brunette witch. Hermione said nothing, her heart thumping so loudly in her chest she was sure the blonde woman would hear it.

This is it, she swallowed thickly; I'm going back to filing.

"I can't very well palm the case off to anyone else at such short notice," she slapped the papers down on to Hermione's desk and flounced towards the door. "You will return to Malfoy Manor this week, and you will get the answers the Ministry needs. Understood?"

"Yes," Hermione said through gritted teeth. Vivienne flashed a saccharine smile over her shoulder.

"That's 'yes, Mrs Weasley.'"

"Yes, Vivienne."

The blonde's smile slipped. "I'd be very careful, Hermione."

Hermione wanted to say "or what?" but her boss had swept from the room, a sour look on her face. Feeling suddenly drained, Hermione sank into her chair and waved her wand to shut the door.

Hermione was not scared of Vivienne, but she was concerned about the risk the blonde posed to her job. She knew she shouldn't have back chatted when Vivienne had made the Mrs Weasley comment, but Hermione just couldn't help it. The other witch just made her so mad, for reasons that had nothing to do with the fact that Vivienne was the one who scored Ron in the end.

A quiet rage wriggled its way up Hermione's spine and she forced herself to lean forward and snatch a quill from her inkpot. She worked through lunch again, and then spent the afternoon researching the Malfoy family, looking for something that could help her crack Draco Malfoy, and ultimately allow her to keep her job.

The rest of the week passed in the same fashion, and before Hermione knew it, it was Friday and she was back at Malfoy Manor. Once again, Miksy greeted her at the door. Hermione had to force herself to smile back at the elf as she led the witch into the sitting room. Malfoy was absent, so Hermione began to make herself comfortable in her usual armchair.

"You came back." Her charge appeared in the doorway, illuminated slightly by the light from the front hall. She glanced up at him and arched an eyebrow. He was in black slacks today, with a sky-blue button up shirt and a blue and white striped tie. His hair was wet and slicked back, reminding her much more of their Hogwarts days.

"Did you expect me not to?"

Malfoy pursed his lips, his head tilted to one side as he observed her, but he did not respond. After a few moments, he seemed to make his mind up about whatever he had been thinking, and made his way towards the chair opposite her.

A mixture of frustration and apprehension swirled in Hermione's stomach and she swallowed thickly as he took his seat. If Malfoy didn't answer the question today, she knew it would be back to filing for her. A sour taste burned in her mouth as she prepared to begin the meeting; if this blond brat managed to undo everything she had put her life on hold to do, she wasn't sure if she would be able to stop herself from hexing him.

"Good morning, Mister Malfoy," Hermione greeted him as politely as she could.

He did not respond.

"I will be asking you the same questions as I did on my first visit; it is an expectation and requirement of your release from Azkaban that you answer every one honestly."

Hermione glanced up from her notes from which she was reading; all she could make out was a pair of two cold, blank grey eyes staring intently at her, and the faintest outline of his mouth pressed into a thin line. Her stomach flipped over; she just wanted this to be done, but she knew she had one hell of a fight before her.

"First question," she pressed on, "have you seen a Medi-Witch since our last visit?"

"No," Malfoy replied. Hermione frowned and made a note on her parchment.

Part of the agreement stated that the Ministry would provide weekly Medi-Wtich visits to Malfoy Manor to ensure his physical and mental well-being. If the Ministry was not holding up their end of the bargain, Hermione could use that information to Malfoy's advantage. She made a mental note to investigate further.

"Have you had any visitors?"

"No."

"How have you been feeling mentally?"

A pause. "Fine."

The rest of the interview continued with Hermione asking questions in a would-be cheerful voice, and Malfoy replying in a bored monotone.

"And finally," Hermione finished her last note with a flourish, "have you heard from either of your parents since your release?" Hermione raised her head slowly to squint at Malfoy. His eyes were focused on a spot over her left shoulder and had become suddenly deaf. "Mister Malfoy?"

"I heard you, Granger."

"Are you going to answer the - ?"

"No," he didn't shout or scream, in fact his voice was so quiet Hermione had to lean forward in her chair to hear him.

Fuck.

A burning sensation licked up the inside of her throat and she had to swallow several times before she had calmed herself enough to speak.

"You know that this could mean being sent back to Azkaban?" Her voice was strangled and too quite. She winced as it mixed with the tense air between them.

"Yes," he nodded, still staring over her shoulder.

Hermione bit down on the tip of her tongue until she feared it might bleed. She wanted to scream, to shake him, to make him understand that this thing was bigger than him; it was bigger than he could imagine. She felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes and she fought the urge to dig the heels of her palms into them. Instead, she blinked furiously and stared down at her parchment.

"Malfoy, you really are making things much worse than they have to be." She was speaking louder now; louder than was really necessary. She saw a flicker of emotion cross his otherwise expressionless face as the candle light threw it into brief relief, but she didn't care. How dare he do this to her, after all she had done for him?

"I know," he said. But he didn't know; how could he? Hermione sighed, long and unevenly as emotion bubbled in her chest. He can't know, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered. Imagine what he'd do if he knew.

"Very well," she said tightly. Her throat had constricted and she knew she was not far off tears. "I guess that's it, then."

Without looking at her, Draco got out of his seat and swept from the room, having not understood the gravity her words held. She knew it was unfair to expect him to know that she had sacrificed so much for him to be sitting across from her. She knew he had questions she couldn't answer, and almost smiled at the irony as the thought crossed her mind.

She began to collect her things. The rustling of her files as she placed them into her satchel echoed around the vast room, still drenched in darkness as Malfoy refused anything other than a candle for light.

Just tell him! Tell him what you've been working towards; he has to answer the bloody question!

Hermione felt as though her mind might break in two as both sides of the argument warred inside her head.

Don't say anything. You've done all you can. Now you just have to hope that they'll assign another case manager, and not resort to Azkaban.

Her heels clicked across the polished wooden floors as she marched from the sitting room and down the hallway.

Are you seriously going to walk away from everything you have risked to save this moron, only to slink back to filing like Vivienne's fucking play thing?!

She stopped as she reached the front door and turned around, one hand on the handle. She didn't know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn't Malfoy standing on the landing across from where she stood. His expression was impassive, but his eyes were questioning.

She could see the cogs turning in his mind. She felt her own face burn red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. As his face drained of colour, Hermione felt a sick sense of satisfaction settle in the pit of her stomach. She offered him half a nod before quickly exiting the foyer.

Draco apparated to his study as soon as the front door slammed shut. He watched the brunette from the window as she hurried away from his residence, out the gates, until she had disappeared into nothing.

He grunted as he slumped in his desk chair. The witch would be the death of him, he was sure of it, though he couldn't pin point why. They had been far from friendly at Hogwarts, for reasons he didn't understand back then, and didn't believe in now. The first time she'd shown up in his house after he'd been released, he had thought it was a cruel prank executed by the Ministry, but then he'd remembered that the Ministry didn't have a sense of humour, even a bad one. Merlin was probably punishing him, or more specifically the Malfoy family as a unit, by sending Hermione Granger to handle his case.

With a shaking hand, he pulled his father's note from the desk drawer and smoothed his long, pale fingers over it. The writing had almost faded completely and the message was indecipherable, but Draco felt as though the letters his father had scratched into the scrap of paper had been tattooed on his arm alongside the Dark Mark.

Draco Malfoy had not cried since hearing the verdict of his mother's trial five years ago, but a hot stinging sensation pulsed at the back of his eyeballs and he blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay. He stood abruptly, dropping the note back in to the drawer and marching from the room. As he moved, he called for Miksy and a large glass of Firewhiskey.

Hours (and many glasses of Firewhiskey) later, Draco was in the sitting room brooding, when the fireplace glowed green and a figure appeared in the grate.

"Merlin!" Draco slurred, standing quickly and sloshing his drink down the front of him.

"Nope, just me," Blaise Zabini grinned and stepped towards him, brushing the soot from the front of his robes.

"Fucking hell, Zabini," Draco growled, stumbling back to his seat.

"You're wasted!" The Italian wizard crowed, coming to crouch in front of Draco's chair.

"You would be too. Prick," Draco muttered and took another swig from his glass.

"I think that's enough," Zabini stood and pried the glass from Draco's hands. "Call your elf," he said as he vanished the glass with his wand. Draco did as he was told and Miksy appeared, bowing at Zabini. "Fetch some water for Mister Malfoy, and some sobering potion," Zabini demanded, his eyes still on his friend. Miksy's eyes widened and she looked at her master.

"Do as he says, Miksy," Draco garbled. The elf disappeared with a crack, only to return a moment later laden down with a large pitcher of water and several potion bottles.

Zabini busied himself with getting the water and the potions into Draco, and then sat on the coffee table while he waited for them to work. A few minutes later, Draco's vacant expression turned into one of pain.

"Oh , Merlin," he moaned, clutching his head. "Got anything for pain over there?" He squeezed his eyes shut and moved his head infinitesimally towards the array of potion bottles. Blaise smirked and handed him a blue one.

"Thank you," Draco smacked his lips together as the liquid burned down his throat. His headache evaporated, and the fog cleared from his mind. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, too," Zabini drawled. "I came to see how you were doing. It took a while for the news to reach me that you'd been released." Draco leaned forward to pour himself a glass of water, and he shot his friend a quizzical look. "I live in Italy now; been there since just before the war ended."

"I wondered where you'd pissed off to."

Zabini smirked. "It was the smartest move." Draco inclined his head in agreement as he took a deep drink from his glass.

For a few moments the men were silent. "It's good to see you," Draco said finally. Zabini nodded, but did not verbalise his assent.

"How've you been?"

"Better," Draco snorted. "I've been in Azkaban for five years, and now I'm under house arrest for at least six months. I have Hermione fucking Granger as my case manager, and the Ministry are the nosiest bastards on the planet, so I'll probably be going back to that filthy island before long."

Blaise raised his eyebrows as Draco spoke in one, long breath. "Whoa," he murmured. "Did you say Granger? The Golden Girl of Gryffindor?"

"The one and only," Draco said darkly.

"Could be worse," Blaise shrugged.

"How?" Draco demanded.

"Could be Potter."

Draco snorted. "True."

"What do they want to know?"

Draco fiddled with the empty water glass in his hand, unsure if he wanted to vocalise his pain. "If I've heard from my parents." Blaise sucked in a breath. "Indeed. Granger's told me that if I don't answer the question, I'll more than likely be sent back to Azkaban."

"So just lie," Blaise shrugged.

Draco sighed. "It's not that simple; I don't want to lie and be locked up again for that…but I can't be honest, either. Especially not to her." Draco spat the last word as if it was coated in poison and forced out of his throat.

"I don't see how you have a choice," Blaise whispered. Draco scoffed. "I mean it, Draco. Just tell her! You can't help your mother from back inside a cell."

Draco observed his friend for a moment, the brown eyes so much like the ones that had appraised him earlier that morning. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Fine," he mouthed, his voice failing him. He cleared his throat. "Fine," he tried again, this time rasping the word out. Zabini smiled and stood.

"Well, I best be off. Oh," he turned as he neared the fireplace, "a word of warning; Pansy knows you're out."

Draco groaned and flopped back into his chair.

"Ciao," Blaise waved elegantly and stepped into the grate with a handful of Floo powder. In a flash of green, he was gone.


	5. Setbacks

The day after her latest failed meeting with Malfoy, Hermione allowed herself a rare sleep-in. She woke to the sound of drizzling rain pattering against the window of her bedroom. Through the sheer curtains she could see that the sky was a dull, apathetic grey. Though it was the perfect weather for staying in bed with a cup of tea and a good book, Hermione forced herself to get up and shower before apparating directly from her bedroom.

Just before 10am, Hermione landed precariously on the front step of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Shaking her hair out from underneath the hood of her cloak, she stepped forward and knocked three times on the large wooden door. Muffled voices sounded inside for a moment, before soft footsteps made their way towards her.

The door swung inwards to reveal the red-headed form of Ginny Potter. She had cut her hair short after the war, preferring to wear it just above her shoulders. Her eyes were brown and still glinted with mischief in the same way they had when they were at Hogwarts. Hermione had always attributed that look with Fred and George, though it had dulled in George's eyes since the war.

"Hermione! Come in, come in!" Ginny beamed at her friend and ushered her into the hall.

"Thanks, Gin." Hermione shrugged out of her cloak and pulled the other woman into a tight hug. "You look well."

"Thanks," Ginny said as they broke apart. The red-head squinted and cocked her head to the side, appraising her friend. "You look kind of…hungover. Are you okay?" Concern flashed in the young woman's eyes as she held Hermione at arm's length.

"I'm fine, Gin," Hermione replied wearily. "It's just been a rough week. Where's Harry?" Hermione twisted in Ginny's vice-like grip and tried to peer over her shoulder. Ginny obliged the brunette witch and dropped her arms, placing them on her hips. She narrowed her eyes at Hermione and opened her mouth, no doubt intending to pry, when she was interrupted by her husband.

"Hermione Granger!" Harry appeared behind Ginny and pushed past her to pull Hermione into a tight hug. Hermione felt herself relax a little bit as she breathed in Harry's familiar scent, a mixture of lemony fabric softener and baked gingerbread.

"How are you, Harry?"

"Fantastic," he grinned and took her cloak. "Go down into the kitchen; I'm making crepes."

Hermione obediently stepped further into the hall; to her right was the troll leg umbrella stand that Tonks religiously tripped over every time she had visited. Above the troll leg was a large section of wall that did not blend in with the rest of the house.

Harry had spent years after the war renovating, and the final task had been to remove the portrait of Sirius' mother. For months he researched and worked tirelessly around his hours at the Ministry to undo the sticking charm, to no avail. Everyone had encouraged him to leave it, accept it as part of the house, and either deal with it or sell and move on. Harry, however, was determined to be rid of the horrible woman once and for all, and had paid for a team of Muggle renovators to tear that part of the wall down. He had confided in Hermione that it had been quite the task, having to hang about silencing Mrs Black every few minutes. Hermione suspected he'd also relied on Obliviate, the memory erasing spell, though he'd never admitted it.

Now the wall was grey, rendered with a textured plaster, a stark contrast to the deep brown brick of the rest of the house. It was still blank, and Hermione secretly thought that Harry was making a point by not decorating it straight away.

As she continued down the hall, she came to the stairs that led down to the basement and the kitchen. She sniffed appreciatively at the air as she began her descent with Harry and Ginny behind her. The smell of cinnamon wafted up towards them and Hermione grinned.

"Smells amazing, Harry."

Harry smiled as he waved his wand over the stove. The batter was pouring itself into the pan, and cooked crepes were floating through the air onto a hovering plate.

Hermione had always felt at home with Harry and Ginny, despite being the third wheel. It was odd, she often mused, that she had never been as comfortable in a trio with Harry and Ron. She had thought at the time that it was because she harboured feelings for Ron, but now that she had matured and grown apart from Ron, she wondered if it had been the red headed wizard who had kept her at arm's length, even from Harry.

"So, how are things?" Ginny asked, taking a seat at the long kitchen table. Hermione joined her, sitting on the opposite side.

"Good," Hermione said quickly. Ginny frowned, but held her tongue as Harry set three glasses of pumpkin juice between them.

"It's got a splash of Ogden's in it," Harry winked at her and Hermione gratefully took a sip.

"What happened? Is it Ron?" Ginny asked as soon as Harry had gone back to the stove.

"No, it's not Ronald." Hermione sighed. She felt the tension rise up in her again. "It's Draco Malfoy."

Harry made a noise of understanding from behind them, but Ginny choked on her pumpkin juice. "That git? What's he done now?"

"Hermione's taken on his case since his release; he's under house arrest," Harry explained to his wife as he wandered back to the table, carrying the plate with him. He took a seat beside Ginny and began serving.

"I've just started his case; two and a half meetings and I can't get the information the Ministry wants. Vivienne is pushing so hard to send me to filing." Hermione heard Ginny's teeth grind together.

"She's doing this on purpose, isn't she?"

Hermione snorted derisively. "Oh, yeah," she nodded. She paused momentarily to thank Harry for the crepes, and load hers with strawberries and cream.

"So," Harry said a few minutes into their brunch, "you've been visiting Malfoy at the Manor?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"Doesn't that bother you? With, you know, what happened there?"

"It did at first," Hermione admitted; she looked thoughtful as she licked the cream from her fork. "The place is still creepy – he won't turn any lights on – but it's not like I have a choice. It helps that I don't have to enter the wing where…where it happened."

Harry was quiet, but he continued to stare at Hermione as if she was a particularly difficult puzzle. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. She wasn't being entirely untruthful; she didn't have to go anywhere near the drawing room, and she had been to quite intensive counselling sessions after the war. The hostage situation and being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange at Malfoy Manor was one thing Hermione had dealt with.

It would be wrong to say it hadn't affected her at all; she still got shivers up her spine when she approached the gate, and it was a little bit creepy sitting in the dark with Draco Malfoy; she didn't like not knowing whether she was going to get Doctor Jekyl or Mister Hyde when she visited. But then, she'd spent six years under the tutelage of Professor Snape, with his icy glare and dark dungeon classroom; Malfoy was a puppy in comparison.

"I could speak to Ron for you," Ginny forced Hermione out of her reverie. She sipped her pumpkin juice, thankful for an excuse to look away from Harry, who was still staring intently. "Or beat him, whatever works. He could make Vivienne assign the case to someone else."

Hermione chuckled. "It's okay, Gin. Nothing I can't handle."

Ginny frowned. "I'd like an excuse to beat him anyway."

"We all would," Harry sighed. He had finally stopped looking at Hermione like she was an intricate sculpture, and turned to give Ginny a significant nod.

"How is Ronald?" The question had passed her lips before Hermione could stop it.

"Er…" Harry glanced furtively between Hermione and Ginny.

"He's okay," Ginny said carefully. She met Harry's gaze for a moment and they had a silent conversation. It was over before Hermione could fully understand what was happening, but it still made her slightly uncomfortable. "We don't see him much. He's a right git, Hermione. You deserve so much better, honestly." Ginny shrugged, as if it was no big deal, but tension was evident in her shoulders.

Harry made a noise of assent around a mouthful of pumpkin juice. He nodded as he set his glass back on the table.

"Thanks guys." Hermione chewed and swallowed, finding that the crepes had taken on the texture of cardboard. She set her cutlery down and continued in a soft voice. "You don't have to estrange him because of me."

Ginny rolled her eyes and Harry snorted.

"It's definitely not because of you, Hermione," Harry said, placing his knife and fork together on his plate. "He's been foul to everyone. Poor Molly was in tears the other day because of that bimbo he married. We weren't there, but George told me that Ron had sat at the table like a bloody mute while Vivienne went on and on about how Fred's death was actually a blessing, because great pleasure can only be experienced if one knows great pain."

Hermione gasped. "She didn't!"

"She did," Ginny said darkly, her fists resting white-knuckled on the table. Tears threatened at the corner of the redhead's eyes and Hermione silently berated herself for broaching the subject. "They're no longer welcome at Bill and Fleur's, either." Ginny continued. "I'm not sure what happened, but Bill was really angry; I've never seen him like that." Her eyes widened and she shook her head, as if she was reliving the moment of Bill's wrath.

Harry looked at Ginny, concern evident on his face. He stretched an arm around the back of her chair and began to draw delicate patterns on the bare skin of her shoulder. Hermione fought against the blush that threatened to creep up her neck.

She had been best friends with Harry for over half their lives now, and she'd been close to Ginny for the past five years. She scolded herself for feeling jealous of what they had, though she knew she couldn't help it, and that it wasn't a malicious kind of envy.

When Voldemort had fallen, Harry and Ginny had started up again where they had left off after Harry's sixth year. Ginny had moved into Twelve Grimmauld Place just before she had left to complete her final year at Hogwarts alongside Hermione. Hermione still remembered some of the arguments between her fiery friend and Molly Weasley, having been privy to most of them as she frequented the Burrow visiting Ron. In fact, Hermione had been instrumental in the prevention of an all-out war between mother and daughter by convincing Ron to move in with Harry as well. Molly had been only slightly reassured, but Hermione had also pointed out that Ginny was of age, and she would also be at Hogwarts for most of the year, where Hermione could look out for her.

After graduating, Ginny had accepted a Chaser position on the Hollyhead Harpies Quidditch team. She was away more than she was home, and Hermione had watched Harry pine for his girlfriend while she tried, and failed, to keep her own relationship on track. She supposed the jealousy had always been there, even when Harry was breaking Ginny's heart to go gallivanting around Europe in the search of Voldemort's horcruxes – at least the younger girl had someone who acknowledged that she existed, and would do anything to keep her from getting hurt.

On New Year's Eve, 1999, Harry had proposed. Hermione would have bet her entire vault at Gringotts that it was this event that had spurred her own proposal later the following year, even if Ron had needed Harry's encouragement to actually ask for her hand. Harry and Ginny were married within six months of their engagement. Hermione had been the Maid of Honour, and Ron had been the best man.

The thought made her stomach turn now. Best man, she shook her head and forced herself back to the present. Hermione realised that Harry and Ginny had both stopped eating and they were watching her with identical expressions of concern.

Hermione smiled weakly at them and placed her fidgeting fingers in her lap. She was feeling distinctly less hungry now. She had been looking forward to this visit with Harry and Ginny, but now she was left feeling sick and empty. Damn Malfoy, and damn Ron! Damn them both to hell!

Hermione cleared her throat and readjusted her smile. "I'll help you do the dishes before I get going," she offered.

"No way," Ginny shook her head as Hermione stood and reached for the empty plates. "You two go and sit in the lounge. I'll be out in a minute." She stood and motioned with a nod towards the entrance of the kitchen.

Hermione followed Harry out back up the stairs and towards the sitting room. She flopped into a recliner and faced him. He was frowning, as if considering her like she was a particularly difficult Arithmancy sum.

"How are you, Hermione? Honestly, this time." He came to sit in front of her, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"I'm fine, Harry."

"You don't seem fine."

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes briefly. "I am fine. I just have a lot going on at the moment, with Malfoy and bloody Vivienne," she spat the woman's name. "I'm stressed. But I'm okay," she attempted to smile, which Harry did not accept.

"You can talk to me about anything, Hermione. Ron may have deserted you like the prat he is, but I'm not going anywhere."

"And neither am I," Ginny had entered the lounge and was leaning against the door frame. "We're both here for you, any time you need us, okay?"

"Thank you," Hermione smiled shakily, "both of you." She stood to leave. "And thank you so much for brunch, it was lovely."

"I'm sorry the conversation wasn't a little more positive," Harry smiled apologetically, but Hermione waved her hand to dismiss his words.

"Next time we'll make it my place?" She asked. "Perhaps next week, or the one after?"

"Sounds great," Harry nodded, "I'll owl you." He walked her towards the front door. "Goodbye, Hermione."

"Bye, Harry."

With a crack! She apparated back to her flat.

A majestic looking owl was waiting on her kitchen window sill when she returned. In its beak was a formal looking letter; the curly, over-the- top handwriting could only belong to one person, and Hermione grimaced as she tore the envelope open.

Hermione,

I arrived at work early this morning to ensure that all cases are up to date; I have a very busy schedule and it does not do to present incomplete reports to Mister Dewsong. I am disappointed to find that your report on Draco Malfoy is still missing the answer to one of the most important questions. The Ministry needs this information to ensure Mister Malfoy is meeting the requirements of his own release, as well as to make decisions regarding the imprisonment of his parents.

Due to your failure in retrieving this information, I believe you are unfit to complete this assignment, as I have given you ample opportunities to do so. Henceforth, you are no longer Draco Malfoy's case manager, and you shall report to the filing department first thing on Monday morning.

Regards,

Vivienne Weasley

Hermione was almost shaking with rage as she finished reading the letter.

"That…that…" she couldn't complete the sentence, so she growled in frustration and tore the letter into pieces. The parchment settled on the kitchen floor and she glared at it as if it had just betrayed her to Voldemort himself.

Blinking furiously, she stalked to her lounge room and threw herself on the couch. Malfoy will be happy, she thought bitterly. It was probably what he wanted; he might talk to a pureblood case manager, or at least one that wasn't her. A new wave of frustration threatened to crash over her, and Hermione pressed her face into her elbow until she saw stars.

On one hand, she desperately hoped that the new case worker wouldn't be able to extract the information either, just to prove that she wasn't actually terrible at her job. On the other, if Draco refused to talk and was sent back to Azkaban, all her hard work would be for nothing. It would be a shame to think that she had risked so much for a prejudiced fool, only for him to ruin everything so close to the end.

Once she had managed to come down from her worked up state, she got up made her way to the kitchen. Typical, she thought, I put my entire life on the line for Draco sodding Malfoy, and he goes and throws it in my face. She slammed a cup down on to the counter so hard she nearly smashed it in her grasp and decided that a bit of cleaning might help to calm her instead.

Unfortunately, Hermione's rage only grew as the hours passed, like a fire exacerbated by dry wood and a constant stream of oxygen. She worked most of the day, cleaning and scrubbing until her joints were stiff and the skin on the back of her hands was red raw. She had hoped that a long day of physical labour would make it easy for her to forget her troubles and fall asleep come bed time.

She was wrong.

Just after midnight, Hermione gave up on her tossing and turning. She growled low in her throat as she pushed the sheets off and rolled out of bed. She hurriedly pulled on a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt, and exited her room. She haphazardly secured her wild curls on top of her head and set off, pausing at the door briefly to grab her cloak before stepping into the night.

Her breath was visible in front of her as she walked, the night clear but bitingly cold. She shivered and drew her cloak tightly around her. She marched down the quiet street, her determined eyes constantly scanning the area, but it was clear of human life. Most of the houses had their shutters drawn, and only a handful had left porch lights on.

Hermione reached the small alleyway that connected her street to a highway and furtively glanced around once more. Confirming she was still alone, she turned on the spot and with a sound like a snapping branch, she was gone.

Draco,

News?

L.M

Draco ran a hand through his hair as he read his father's words for the umpteenth time. Another barn owl had arrived that morning, carrying a scrap of cloth in its beak. Lucius had used blood this time to write his message. Draco's eyes watered as he stared down at the jagged piece of fabric that lay on his desk.

He sighed as he took in the meaning; his father was asking him for information on how his case was progressing, his mother's too. He let out a frustrated growl and stood, pacing around his study. Draco couldn't care less about what happened to Lucius – it was his fault the Malfoys were in this mess in the first place. But Narcissa…she didn't deserve Azkaban. She hadn't deserved what had happened in her house all those years ago. Draco gritted his teeth as he leant against the wall of his study; he would make sure his mother was free by the end of the year, even if it killed him.

Around dinner time, he collapsed back into his chair and Miksy brought his dinner to the study. He ate mechanically, not really tasting the food as he chewed and swallowed. He read as he finished his meal, researching old Azkaban cases after the first downfall of the Dark Lord. Even after all these years, a shiver ran up Draco's spine as the evil snake-like face flashed in his mind. The rest of the night was spent hunched over books and journals, desperately searching for something that could be useful. Around midnight, Miksy reappeared to ask if she could do anything, but Draco sent her to bed.

He stretched his arms overhead and rubbed his tired eyes. As he plodded down the hallway to his bedroom, there was only one thought swimming around his head; Blaise was right - he would have to talk to Hermione Granger. Resigned to this fact, he groaned and fell onto his mattress. He lay there for what felt like hours, willing himself to go to sleep, and the comfort of unconsciousness eluding him.

Just as he felt his body starting to give in to exhaustion, there was a knock at the door.

"Draco?"

He sat bolt upright. He'd recognise that voice anywhere. He knew he should have expected this, as he crossed the room in quick strides, but what was she doing outside of his bedroom at nearly one in the morning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know there's been some concern about Hermione's characterisation in this fic and I'd like to acknowledge your patience as she develops. I'm having a lot of fun playing with some of her less advertised personality traits, and I hope it pays off in the end. If you are still worried about her Gryffindor spunk, I invite you to follow me on Tumblr (CourtingInsanity) as I have posted a future snippet which might assuage some fears.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing - I really appreciate all of your feedback :D


	6. The Good Fight

During his imprisonment, Draco had been prone to nightmares. Actually, if he was being completely honest, he'd been suffering from night terrors since the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts. During his stint in Azkaban, the terrors were so bad he had woken on more than one occasion covered in his own blood, bruised and aching.

Since being released, he'd managed to get them under control with the help from the Medi-Witch who had visited him twice. However, he hadn't seen her this week, and the potions had run out. The result of that was a long week of intermittent night terrors between bouts of insomnia.

On top of a lack of sleep and a general feeling of constant anxiety, Draco knew that he had to form an alliance of sorts with Granger. The thought made him feel conflicted in the same way one might feel watching a train wreck. He wanted to watch her orchestrate the release of his mother, but at the same time he was wary of trusting her with anything more important than ironing his monogrammed handkerchief.

On the morning of his next case meeting, he dressed carefully. There was nothing he could do about his waxen skin and dark under eyes, but he wanted to at least make it known that he'd attempted to make an effort with his appearance. He pulled on navy blue slacks and a burgundy button up shirt. He grimaced as he looked at himself in the mirror; he wondered if it was worth wearing a Gryffindor colour if it made him look even more pallid than usual.

He was just looping his tie around his neck when a warning shimmer ran up his spine. He felt what little colour he had in his face drain away from his cheeks and he swore colourfully under his breath. Granger was here.

He sighed and forced his shoulders back. Looking himself in the eye, he schooled his features in to a mask of indifference and jutted his chin out a little. Holding this pose, he finished tying his tie and turned away from the mirror. He made his way down the stairs and along the hallway that led to the sitting room. As he approached the dimly lit room, he slipped his hands into his pockets and hitched a smirk on to his face.

"Morning, Granger," he drawled as he rounded the corner. He stopped dead and his face fell as his eyes landed on his case worker. The woman sitting in his armchair was tall, skinny, and definitely not Granger. The skin on her face was convoluted and droopy, and her eyes were almost hidden by a large amount of overhanging skin, giving Draco the impression of a naked mole rat. Her hair was white and wispy, the fine strands pulled back into a tight bun.

She sniffed and looked him up and down reproachfully. "Mister Malfoy." He raised his eyebrows. "Unfortunately, Miss Granger has been removed from your case. I am Morag Eaglewater, and I shall be taking over from here." The witch lifted a frail looking hand to her face and positioned her glasses on the end of her straight nose.

He ground his back teeth together. So much for opening up, he thought. He looked over at Morag Eaglewater as he took his seat across from her. She had to be at least a hundred years old, and she was regarding him with what could only be described as complete and utter disdain.

"What happened?" He grunted, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting her gaze evenly.

"I beg your pardon?" The witch dropped her gaze and began to shuffle the parchment on her lap. Draco noted that she licked her thumb every few pages as she separated them. His stomach rolled as she brought the wrinkled digit to her thin lips and coated it with saliva from her tongue.

"What happened to Granger?" He said, forcing himself to look away.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that with you, Mister Malfoy," she looked sternly down her nose at him and Draco was distinctly reminded of Minerva McGonagall. "Now, shall we begin?"

"I suppose," Draco replied haughtily, schooling his features back into a mask of indifference, though frustration bubbled in his chest like an ill-brewed potion.

"Has a Medi-Witch been to see you?" Morag was all business.

"No," Draco's lip curled as the witch documented his answer.

"Have you had any visitors?"

Draco hesitated. He wasn't sure how cooperative he felt like being with this new woman. Though something about her almost compelled him to be honest with her, part of him also wanted to wipe the smug look from her face.

He tugged slightly at his collar before answering. "Yes," he stated. "The other night."

"And?" Morag prompted, dragging out the word in an almost melodic way.

Draco's eyes tightened, but he kept his voice neutral. "Pansy Parkinson."

"How long did this visit last?" Morag pressed.

Bloody hell, what is this to the Ministry? Draco flexed his hands.

"She arrived late in the evening and then spent the night here. She left shortly after sunrise the next morning."

Morag paused, her quill hovering above her parchment as she met his gaze. Through the dim light, he saw her arch an eyebrow, and immediately knew she had assumed the worst.

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. Let her think what she wants, he thought savagely. It hardly affects me, the opinion of this daft old bint.

The questions continued in the same vain, Morag clinical, and Draco slightly withdrawn.

When it came to the final question, Draco felt like he had been emotionally rung out to dry.

His upbringing had taught him to always be polite to your elders, at least to their faces, and his time in Azkaban and subsequent meetings with Granger had taught him that maybe it was better to keep your opinions to yourself, at least sometimes.

He ground his teeth together in preparation for the last question, a silent battle waging in his mind as he tried to decide whether he would answer it or not.

"Just one more question, Mister Malfoy, and then I will be out of your hair," Morag glanced up quickly, and Draco braced himself for what was to come.

"Have you heard from either of your parents since your release from Azkaban?"

Draco was silent for a moment, weighing up his options. He knew he would be taking a huge risk by not answering; hadn't Granger warned him that he would be sent back to prison if he didn't give the Ministry what they wanted? How long would he be able to avoid giving them the information they desired? Would they heed his request, or would a complaint from an ex-criminal be laughed at by middle-aged wizards on level 2 of the Ministry…if it was even heard? He shook himself out of his reverie as Morag began to repeat the question, thinking perhaps he was hard of hearing.

"Didn't Granger tell you I refuse to answer that question?" He cut her off, his voice a low hiss. "Just because they sent you instead of her, does not mean I'm going to answer it."

"Mister Malfoy," Morag's eyes flashed, "surely you can address the witch properly?" Perhaps it was her age, or the way her skin on her face wobbled dangerously as she spoke, but Draco was taken aback. "I should think, given all that Miss Granger has done for you, you'd be a little more respectful!"

Draco scoffed, his confidence returning. "All she has done for me? She gets paid for this," he waved his hands dramatically, "does she not?"

The witch shifted in her seat. "Yes, she does. But not enough, it would seem. I was actually referring to the work she did prior to and after you and your parents were sentenced."

Draco's brows knitted together in confusion and his mouth slackened. Questions rained down from all sides of his mind, but he could not focus on one long enough to verbalise it.

"You don't know?" Morag pursed her lips. "It was she who spoke on your behalf, to save you all from the Kiss. Thankfully, she was able to get that verdict overturned almost immediately."

Draco stiffened in his seat as the gravity of Morag's words hit him. His fists clenched and he felt the world tilt on its axis.

"But…" he managed to choke out, and Morag raised an eyebrow at him. When he remained silent, she continued.

"It was also Miss Granger who took on the role of your lawyer during your sentencing. Did you never wonder who was working on your case?" Draco shook his head. Morag clucked her tongue. "Miss Granger was the one who petitioned for your appeal. She's been working towards the moment of your release for the better part of the last five years. The Wizengamot, in their infinite wisdom, didn't want to be seen as going back on their word."

"I was an example," Draco murmured, more to himself than to Morag. The older witch frowned, but nodded as if she caught his meaning.

"Miss Granger believed you and your mother were victims of unfortunate circumstances; circumstances beyond your control."

Draco snorted. "Of course she did." He hated that he sounded almost hysterical. "Bleeding heart Gryffindor, of course she thought I was the victim." His voice dripped with venom and Morag's hardened as she addressed him again.

"I don't know Miss Granger beyond the cases she has fought, Mister Malfoy," Morag enunciated every syllable, "but I do know that she has fought for you and your mother for nearly half a decade. Whether or not you are innocent, she believes there is something worth fighting for in there," she pointed at his chest, "and you should be grateful for that."

Draco was rigid in his chair, unable to think straight or to formulate a comeback that could refute her claim. If she was telling the truth, and Draco had no reason to suspect she wasn't, as much as he'd like to, he owed Hermione Granger a life debt. The thought made him want to throw up.

"What else – " Draco's voice was rough and high pitched. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What else has Granger done for me and my…and my mother?" He forced himself to hold Morag's gaze. The older witch shuffled slightly in her chair, clearly enjoying the change in his demeanour.

"I think that is something you should discuss with Miss Granger," she replied evenly. "I fear I might have said too much already."

"Then send her back." The words were out of his mouth before he could comprehend what he was actually asking.

"I beg your pardon?" Morag blinked impassively. For a moment, Draco wasn't sure if she was affronted or if she simply hadn't heard him.

"I said, send Granger back. Reinstate her to my case or whatever."

"I'm afraid that decision does not rest with me," Morag stated. "Now, how about we get back to business?" She cleared her throat. "Have you heard from -,"

"I won't answer that question," Draco said quietly. Morag huffed.

"A fine way to repay Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy, by getting yourself thrown back in to Azkaban after all she has done and sacrificed for you!" Her tone reminded him so much of a nagging mother, he only just managed to catch himself as he began to roll his eyes.

"I will not answer that question," he repeated, "unless Granger is reinstated as my case manager, and she asks it of me."

"I know that this is difficult for you," her voice was soft and extremely irritating. Draco puffed out his cheeks and gritted his teeth. "But it would be a lot less difficult if you just answer the question now…"

"No!" Draco snapped. His eyes flashed and he watched as Morag visibly flinched.

"Mister Malfoy," her tone was firm but he could read the uncertainty on her face, "you do not have a choice! Just answer the question and I will be on my way."

"I've told you; I'll only talk to Granger."

Morag watched him for a few minutes. He had set his jaw, and folded his arms across his chest. He reminded her of a petulant child; and then she reminded herself that he practically was a petulant child. She sighed.

"Very well," she said. "I will talk to Mrs Weasley," her voice was condescending and Draco's eyes narrowed as she stood. "I wouldn't get your hopes up though." She winced as she put weight on her right foot and she grasped her hip. Draco stood and wondered if he should offer assistance. "It's more than likely I'll be seeing you again next week."

Draco offered her a thin smile that did not reach his eyes, but he did not comment. A few stiff steps across the room, and Morag was able to walk normally again. She offered him a nod over her shoulder, and then slowly stalked towards the front door.

Draco let his shoulders slump as it closed behind her. So it had been Granger who had rescued him from what he thought was his fate. His face contorted into a grimace and he had the sudden urge to take a shower. Instead, he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he ran a hand over his face. The other he placed on his hip, and he stood there like that for several minutes wondering what his next move should be.

Bloody typical, he thought as his brain started to fire up again, Hermione Granger saving the day like the faithful sidekick she always had been. He had begun to move slowly in the direction of his study, but that thought stopped him in his tracks. Though Granger had been the sidekick to Potter for most of their lives, it didn't appear that she was still in that role now. Merlin, Draco paled as the realisation dawned, Hermione Granger is the hero.

He staggered slightly and leaned against the wall, the starkness of them mixing with the plush emerald carpet until they spun in a colourless vortex which threatened to suck Draco in. He slid down the wall and sat panting at the base, his head pressed firmly against the brickwork as a reminder that he was still upright and the world hadn't actually flipped over.

When he could move again, he staggered the rest of the way to his office, keeping one hand on the wall as a guide. He fell gracelessly into his desk chair and pulled the closest bit of parchment towards him. His writing was rushed and messy, and the parchment was covered in splotches of ink by the time he had finished signing his name.

Lucius,

I think I have a lead.

D.M

The filing department for the Magical Law Enforcement office was well beneath the ground floor. It was essentially a large rectangular room that reminded Hermione of a warehouse. The walls were grey concrete, and the floor was made from sticky linoleum that squeaked whenever someone walked on it.

Thousands of typical-looking filing cabinets were organised into alphabetical rows which zig-zagged all over the space. The cabinets themselves towered almost to the roof, and were lined against each wall, so that the only light came from the floating candles dotted randomly throughout. It was a dull and dreary place to work, which was probably why most people just used it as a place to hook up with co-workers. A stench of stale sweat and sex hung permanently in the air, despite the air-freshener charm Hermione had created for the purpose of masking it.

On Wednesday morning, nearly a week since Morag's visit with Draco Malfoy, Hermione was taking a morning tea break. This is not something she normally did, so when Atticus burst into the cramped space in which she had set up a makeshift desk, she jumped up from her seat, spilling coffee all down the front of her blouse.

"Hermione!" He whispered conspiratorially.

"Merlin, Atticus!" Hermione huffed as she reached for her wand. "What have I told you about bursting in like that?"

The wizard paused for half a second to paste a brief and half-hearted apologetic expression on to his face.

"Sorry," he continued in the same voice, "but you need to come now!" He glanced around furtively and waved his hand dramatically to signal that she should follow him. When he noticed that she wasn't even looking at him, too preoccupied with syphoning the coffee from the material of her shirt, he dropped the theatrics.

"Hermione," he said flatly. She grunted, but did not look up. "Hermione!" He tried louder.

"What?" She spat, dragging her gaze up to meet his. Her eyes were puffy and red rimmed with exhaustion, and she looked like she wanted to slap him.

"There is a meeting being held at this very moment," he spoke very quickly and Hermione shook her head as she listened, trying to keep up, "between Vivienne, Dewsong, and Eaglewater."

Hermione blinked in confusion and Atticus actually stomped his foot.

"Come on!" He insisted, reaching over the desk and tugging on her arm. She shuffled around the small space and allowed him to pull her along, only just managing to grab her purse from the desk as she did so.

"What sort of a meeting?"

"A meeting to discuss the case of one Draco Malfoy," Atticus articulated the name as if he was trying to speak it around a great mouthful of food. Hermione quickened her pace and Atticus let go of her arm.

"What are they saying?"

Atticus huffed. "I don't know," he threw up his hands as they exited the file room and quickly entered the lift opposite. "I just happened to be walking by Mary Pike's cubicle when I overheard her talking to Morag. Morag said she couldn't help her with something because she was on her way to a meeting with Weasley and Dewsong. I caught the name Malfoy as well."

They had arrived at Level Two, and hurried down the corridor towards Vivienne's office.

"That was when I ran off to come and get you," Atticus had lowered his voice to just above a whisper; he was panting slightly.

"Thank you!" Hermione nodded once at him as they reached the door. Muffled voices could be heard through the thick piece of wood.

Atticus pointed to his ears and mouthed comically that he couldn't hear anything. Hermione rolled her eyes and dug around in her purse. After a few seconds, a look of triumph crossed her face and she pulled out a long piece of flesh-coloured string.

Atticus recoiled away from it, his hands clasped in front of his chest. Hermione smothered a giggle and watched the horror on her assistant's face as she pressed one end of the Extendable Ear into her own, and then bent down to force the other end under the door. When she stood, Atticus was regarding her with simultaneous pride and disgust.

"…unless Granger is reinstated." Morag's voice was clear, as if Hermione was standing next to her.

"Preposterous!" Hermione could hear the sneer in Vivienne's tone.

"Quite right," the booming voice of Mister Dewsong rang around the room. "The boy must learn that actions have consequences."

"I fear that he can be quite stubborn, sir." Morag's voice was low and commanding.

Vivienne scoffed. "He's a prisoner…"

"Ex-prisoner," Hermione growled under her breath.

"…we can't just go giving him whatever he wants! What would that look like?"

"I agree," Dewsong said. "We need to teach him a lesson; Merlin knows the Ministry doesn't need to suffer through further humiliation."

"Exactly – "

"With all due respect," Morag interjected, "I don't believe that I'm the best person for this case."

"And what? Granger is?" Vivienne's cold laugh made Hermione wince and adjust the Extendable Ear.

"I think so," Morag said clearly.

Mister Dewsong grunted; there was the sound of creaking wood, like a large bodied person had shifted abruptly in their seat.

Hermione seethed.

"It's not our fault," her boss mused. "He has his freedom – what more should we be doing?"

"That's it," Hermione hissed as she yanked the string from her ear. She shoved it into Atticus' hands; he immediately gagged and dropped it. Hermione ignored him.

She pushed against the door without knocking, and marched into the room. The three occupants snapped around to look at her, each wearing the same shocked expression. Morag was the first to recover.

"Miss Granger," she said politely. "We were just discussing you."

"Oh, really?" Hermione didn't mean to sound so sarcastic, but her blood was boiling. She turned her attention to Mister Dewsong.

He was a large man with a head of thick, wavy blonde hair. She supposed that he had been handsome when he was younger, but a very long and successful career had worn down his genial features into a pinched expression of pain and arrogance.

"Mister Dewsong, I was coming here to speak to Vivienne regarding another case when I couldn't help but overhear your conversation about Draco Malfoy," she lied easily.

"Oh?" The man blinked his watery blue eyes and regarded her shrewdly.

"If Malfoy is asking for me to return, and promising that he will answer the final question if I do so, I think we owe it to him to heed his request."

Mister Dewsong stared at Hermione. Vivienne began to laugh, a silly tittering sound, and the beefy man joined in.

"Miss Granger," he began in a condescending tone he usually reserved for interns. "Our job here isn't to give in to the demands of criminals; in fact, I dare say it's actually the exact opposite of what we stand for here."

"But Mister Dewsong – "

He held up a fat hand covered in gold rings. "I don't believe that we owe Draco Malfoy anything other than the terms set out for him by the Wizengamot. You were there," he nodded in Hermione's direction, "you represented him; did you not agree to the terms?"

"Yes sir, but – "

"And were you not warned that should you be unable to collect the information required by the Ministry that you would be removed from the case?"

"I understand that, but – "

"Then, Miss Granger," Mister Dewsong's voice had risen in volume and he stood from his chair to look at Hermione, whose head barely reached his shoulder. "I think you have some filing to attend to." He grinned, an uneven mess of yellow teeth, before sweeping from the room.

Hermione felt like she might cry. She blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay and turned to Vivienne. The blonde woman folded her arms over her chest and jutted her hip out. She raised her eyebrows as Hermione met her gaze; a look that clearly said 'I win'.

"Fine," Hermione bit out. She held up her hands, palms facing out as she backed out of the office. "But I'm not going to drop this." She turned on her heel as soon as she reached the doorway and fled back to the filing room, Atticus hot on her heels.


	7. Panic! At The Manor

The house was dark and completely silent, except for the muffled footfalls as he paced the room. It had been that way for several hours.

On the surface, he looked as cool and calm as ever. His hair was once again slicked back away from his face, and his pale hands were concealed in the pockets of his trousers. His blank facial expression gave away nothing to indicate his inner turmoil.

And he was in turmoil. The witch was late. He knew that it couldn't possibly mean that Granger was simply running behind schedule; Granger had never struck him as the tardy type. She also seemed like the kind of witch who'd at least owl, if she was going to inconvenience someone with her poor time management skills.

No, he thought. Something had gone wrong.

Morag had warned him that this would happen. He began to pace. Hell, even Granger told me this would happen, he mused. His stomach somersaulted in his belly and he began to regret the tea he'd let Miksy make him in lieu of breakfast earlier that morning. As he paced, his fists clenched and unclenched, and his mind danced from optimism to pessimism.

Maybe Granger has staged a protest, he thought wildly. He knew that in some way it was crazy to imagine such things, but then again, it was Hermione Granger. He felt an unfamiliar emotion bubble in his chest, something he supposed other people might attribute to something like hope; Draco Malfoy did not like the idea of hoping. As a boy, he had held hope for a lot of things…but now, as a man who had spent the majority of his adult life in prison, he could not bring himself to fully indulge in the sentiment.

Evening had set in, and Draco was still pacing. Miksy appeared around 5pm, and asked if Master would like her to light the lamps. He said no; the same answer he had given the elf every night since his return from Azkaban all those weeks ago. He knew it was unfair of him to keep the occupants of his household in the dark, but he could not bear the light. Not yet, anyway.

It wasn't anything physiological. He supposed it might have been, when he first returned. He hadn't seen proper light in so long; it did almost burn his eyes inside their sockets. But now, it was more about him feeling like he didn't deserve to bask in the warm glow the oil lamps around the Manor. Not when his mother was still behind bars, and not when he still couldn't understand why he had been saved…and by Hermione Granger, of all people.

Hermione Granger. He found that focusing on her kept his mind off the inevitable arrival of the Ministry officials. He had found that, as unpleasant as it was, he thought often of the brunette witch and the actions she had taken since his sentence. The one question still running around his head was why, and for all his intelligence, he could not conjure a satisfactory answer.

At 9pm, Miksy once again apparated into Draco's bedroom. He assured her that he did not need anything, and that he would be turning in for the night. The house-elf looked dubiously at her Master, but he had resumed his pacing, so with a loud crack! she disappeared to her own living quarters.

As soon as she left, there was a loud ruckus outside, just below Draco's window.

He froze in place.

This is it. Fear gripped every part of him, making it impossible to move even if he had wanted to. They've finally come. His heart beat frantically in his chest, throbbing against his rib cage. A lump formed in his throat and he desperately tried to swallow it, to no avail. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and he felt his cheeks flush in an all too familiar sensation he'd come to attribute with the beginnings of a panic attack.

One second, he was frozen and unable to move like a cornered animal. The next, he was on the ground in a crumpled heap, his eyes squeezed shut and his breath coming in rapid gasps. Every decision he had made over the last few months, every time he'd told Granger he wouldn't answer her stupid, invasive, Ministry-ordered question, flashed behind his eyes.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He punctuated every second syllable with a shallow punch to the carpet near his head. Why hadn't he just answered the damn question when he'd had the chance? Now the Ministry was here to take him back to Azkaban; he had failed. He'd failed his mother for the second time.

Crack!

Draco did not move.

"Master Draco?"

Miksy was standing in the doorway, the corner of her tea towel twisting painfully around her long fingers.

"Sir, is you being okay, sir?"

Tears formed in the corner of his grey eyes, now wide with a mixture of anger and fear.

"They've come for me, Miksy," he rasped out.

The elf's eyes grew wide and she took two small steps backwards.

"I is getting you help, Master!"

With another sound like a whip, she was gone.

Seconds stretched like hours, the silence thick and heavy like an old duvet as it settled around his shoulders. He whimpered; a childlike sound from the back of his throat. He hated that it had come to this.

Heavy footsteps thudded towards his door; Draco thought it sounded like there were two of them, which made sense. Aurors always worked in teams of two. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, dripping steadily on to the carpet.

Please don't let it be Potter he thought desperately. Anyone but Potter and Weasley.

The door flung open and he squeezed his eyes shut as the heavy wood banged against the wall.

"So stupid," he hissed through his teeth, followed by another punch to the floor.

"What's stupid?"

"You mean besides the soggy ball of flesh cowering on the ground before us?"

Draco sat up immediately and wiped roughly at his face. His eyes were still blurred with tears as he peered towards the doorway; the soft light of the hallway revealed the dishevelled forms of Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini.

"Pansy?" He blinked. "Blaise? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Blaise grunted impatiently. Draco noted he was wearing a pair of deep purple satin boxer shorts and a matching dressing gown.

"Your elf – Miksy – arrived at my place five minutes ago. She was shrieking something about you being hurt, rolling around on the floor." Pansy folded her arms across her chest; she was also wearing pyjamas and a robe, though hers were much less revealing. "I Floo'd Blaise and we rushed over here."

Draco gulped, guilt and embarrassment swirling in his chest. He stood shakily, and clutched one of the four wooden posts of his bed for support.

"I'm sorry." He attempted to sound nonchalant, but his voice was low and shaky.

"Draco," Pansy stepped forward and placed her hand on his forearm. Draco winced but did not pull away. "Tell us what happened."

Draco glanced briefly at Pansy and then at Blaise. The latter rolled his eyes and stomped out of the room, only to return a few moments later with a bottle of Firewhiskey and three crystal tumblers.

Draco took his drink silently, and sat on the edge of his bed. Pansy sat in front of him on the floor, and Blaise dragged the chair away from the window.

"I heard a sound, outside of my window," he began. "I thought it was someone from the Ministry – that someone had come to take me back to Azkaban."

Pansy sucked in a sharp breath. Blaise tutted.

"So you haven't spoken to Granger?" He accused. "I thought you were going to answer the question."

"I was!" Draco bit back, some of his usual fire returning. He glared at Blaise. Who is he to judge me? He thought. It was all well and good for the Italian wizard to berate him, but what consequence had he paid for the war? He'd hidden behind his name and blood status while at Hogwarts, and then fled the country as soon as the war broke out! Draco did not voice this, however. Instead, he ground his teeth together and tore his glare away from Blaise's face.

"Granger?" Pansy's face contorted into an expression halfway between confusion and disgust. "There's a name I haven't heard in a while. What's she got to do with this?"

"She's Draco's case manager."

"Oh, you poor thing!" Pansy gasped. Before he could respond, she had risen from the floor, her Firewhiskey forgotten, and walked over to Draco. She squeezed in between his legs before he had registered what was happening, and then wrapped her arms around his shoulders in what he assumed was meant to be a comforting hug.

He pressed his fingertips into the sides of her hips and pushed back gently.

"Thanks, Pans," he caught Blaise's eye and the brunette wizard smirked. Draco fought back a growl.

"You poor, poor man!" Pansy allowed herself to be moved out of Draco's arms, but stood in front of him with pity in her eyes.

Blaise snorted.

"She's not my case manager anymore," he admitted after a short pause.

"What happened?" Blaise demanded, his face more serious now. Pansy sighed in relief, but both men ignored her.

"I don't really know," Draco stalled, his hand finding the back of his neck; an obvious sign of guilt. "Last week this other broad was here, Morag someone. She told me Granger had been taken from the case. I told her I wouldn't answer that last question unless Granger came back – "

"You fool!" Blaise rose from his chair, his eyes dark. "Draco, this isn't a fucking game you can play like we're back in school! This is your life! Merlin's saggy balls…do you want to go back to Azkaban?"

"Fuck off, Blaise!" Draco stood too, his Firewhiskey slopping out of the glass and on to the floor. "I don't want my dirty laundry aired all over Britain, okay? I think my family's been through enough – deserved or not. I asked for Granger because I don't trust the rest of those Ministry menaces."

"But you trust Granger?" Pansy piped up and both men whipped around to face her, having forgotten she was there.

"I – " Draco stopped, a frown etched deep into his face. "I have my reasons for not distrusting her." He said finally. His tone dared them to press further, but his friends knew it would do no good.

"Fine," Blaise nodded and sat back down. "So what happened? Did Morag show today? Or Granger?"

"No," Draco shook his head and began to pace. "No one showed up today. Hence the panic I was in earlier," he waved a hand towards the floor. "I assumed that I was going to be sent back to Azkaban."

Pansy and Blaise shared a look that Draco did not see.

"I'll visit the Ministry on Monday."

Draco snapped his head up to meet Blaise's gaze.

"That won't be necessary."

"Like hell it isn't," Blaise snorted. "I'm going to find out what's going on."

"I'll just owl Granger in the morning," Draco frowned.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "And risk your message being intercepted? Draco, you're an intelligent guy – think! Something's obviously gone down in Granger's department. It's not worth the risk it poses to you and your mother."

Draco's eyes flashed, but he nodded in assent. It would not be worth going back to Azkaban should this mess turn out to be nothing more than a missed memo about sending him back to prison.

"I'll go and speak to Vivienne myself," Blaise allowed a slow smirk to grace his features. "I've never had a problem getting the Greengrass ladies to see my way."

Draco rolled his eyes and Pansy blanched. How he knew who was in charge of case management, Draco wasn't sure he wanted to know.

It was true, though, however unpleasant a thought; Blaise had managed to string Daphne along since their fourth year. He would date her, then dump her, and then come crawling back months later. She was always waiting. Draco almost pitied her, but figured if she was dumb enough to believe the shit that Blaise spouted then she probably deserved the heartbreak.

"Thank you," the blond inclined his head at his Italian friend. "I appreciate it." He was pleased to detect nothing more than a business-like tone in his voice. He was feeling much calmer now, thanks to his friends and the Firewhiskey.

"Right," Blaise slapped his thighs as he rose from the chair. "I'll be off then. I have some last minute business to attend to before bed time." He winked at Draco and strode from the room, sparing Pansy a quick side-ways glance before disappearing down the hall.

"You'd better be off to, Pansy." Draco cleared his throat.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" She reached a hand towards him and Draco froze. He wished she wouldn't be so familiar with him, even if they had been friends since first year.

"I'll be fine, thank you."

"I could stay, if you – "

"No," Draco said firmly. Pansy's eyes flickered with hurt, but she schooled her features quickly. Feeling slightly guilty, the blond sighed. "No, thanks," he amended. "I'm really tired now, I think I'll just flop in to bed and pass out."

Pansy offered him a bright smile, and relief flooded him as she bought his attempt at nonchalance.

"Okay," she bit her bottom lip in what was meant to be a seductive way. Draco swallowed thickly against the bile which had risen into his throat.

"Goodnight, Pansy." He nodded once, his hands behind his back.

"Goodnight, Draco." Despite his best efforts at remaining aloof, Pansy stepped forward and reached up on her tiptoes to lightly kiss his cheek.

As she turned and sauntered out of the room, offering him a wink over her right shoulder, Draco released a long, slow breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Merlin help me," he hissed through his teeth as he flopped backwards on to his bed.

It wasn't as if he didn't like Pansy. She had been a good friend when he'd needed one in Hogwarts. She was loyal, and knew which part to play and when. Like when he'd fake being hurt, and she'd fawn over him like a little mother hen. Or when he was fifteen and the hormones had taken over; she had tried anything he wanted, whenever he wanted, with an open mind. Or when he was sixteen and riddled with angst over the task Voldemort had set him; she'd been the perfect pureblood girlfriend – hardly present, and silent when she was.

Draco sighed as he stared up at the deep green canopy of his four-poster, his arms behind his head. He had never liked Pansy more than a friend, though. Even when they dated briefly at Hogwarts, it was more a case of convenience than anything else. She'd wanted the label, and he'd wanted the benefits of having a warm body whenever he felt like it. He cringed at that thought; his younger self was much more of a douche than he'd care to remember.

Vivienne Weasley often started her day with a long black. No sugar, because as she'd tell the barista each morning "I'm sweet enough!" They never laughed. She always did.

On this particular morning, however, the young man standing in her office was not her usual taste of Italy.

"Can I help you?" She sniffed as she entered.

He turned slowly, a toothy smile effortlessly carved into his chiselled face. She swallowed thickly.

"Zabini?" She squinted slightly, as if to appraise him better. "Blaise Zabini?"

"The one and only." He lifted his arms to the side, and his smile stretched impossibly.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Her voice was breathy as she took her seat behind the desk.

Daphne hadn't been wrong, she mused; he was really fit!

"I'm here to talk to you about my good friend Draco Malfoy." Blaise's smile never faltered, and she could see each individual tooth even as he spoke.

She arranged her face into a simper. "Poor Draco," she tutted. "So unfair, what happened to him."

"I'm glad you agree." His smile seemed tighter now, and Vivienne braced herself.

"Is there something you need from me?" She asked slowly. "Something I can do to help Draco?"

Blaise nodded. "There is," his smile was almost gone now, his tone serious. "I need you to reinstate Hermione Granger as Draco's case manager."

Vivienne would have laughed. Under any other circumstance, she would have found his request comical; but she knew Blaise Zabini. Well, of him, anyway. She had spent many weekends and holidays with her cousins, Daphne and Astoria, and Daphne had told her all about the dark, handsome wizard who held her heart – and often crushed it. Vivienne knew he was a wizard not to be messed with, not in the bedroom, and not in the boardroom.

She knew he'd run off to Milan during the war, and started his consulting business soon after it had ended. He worked with wizards and muggles, and he actually had a bit to do with the Ministry, though not many of the higher-ups knew the name behind the logo of Z-Consulting.

The blonde witch chewed on her lower lip, hyper-aware of the deep brown eyes boring holes into her forehead.

"I'm not entirely sure that's within my power, Mister Zabini." She said softly, bringing her gaze up to meet his. He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm not entirely sure I believe that," he said easily. He seemed almost bored. Vivienne bit the inside of her cheek.

"Mister Dewsong has the final say on the matter," her tone hardened somewhat, and she squared her shoulders. "During our meeting last week, he was completely against reinstating Granger."

Hiding behind Dewsong was familiar territory for Vivienne; despite having climbed the corporate ladder quite quickly given her age and experience, she had never really been interested in the actual work side of her job; only the power it gave her over people like Hermione.

"Come on," Blaise's voice was low and seductive as he leant forward, resting his arms on her desk. "We both know Dewsong is just a puppet for your father."

Vivienne gulped. He really was very charming.

"My father doesn't get to decide who is employed here." She shot back.

"That's a lie."

Vivienne quirked an eyebrow. "That's a strong accusation."

"I don't think so," Blaise leant back again. He was silent for a few long seconds, his dark eyes appraising her. Vivienne refused to look away, her eyes narrowed. "I think you could have Hermione Granger back on the case as soon as you click those well-manicured fingers of yours." He nodded infinitesimally towards her hands.

Vivienne slid them from the desk and into her lap.

"You overestimate my power, Mister Zabini."

Blaise chortled. "Please, call me Blaise; the Zabinis and Greengrasses have a long history. One that should be respected, don't you agree?"

Vivienne felt her face flush, though with anger instead of embarrassment. He was too clever for his own good.

"I'm unaware of any allegiance the Greengrasses formed with the Zabinis," she replied coolly. "Unless you're referring to your dalliance with my cousin?"

"Perhaps," he smirked. "But I was actually talking about the large sum of money Z-Consulting paid to your uncle two years ago. I helped him avoid bankruptcy, not to mention a Ministry investigation into his…possessions." He paused for effect. "If you get my drift." He threw her a lewd wink and Vivienne sat back in her chair.

"You're lying," she whispered. "You're just saying that to get what you want."

"I admit, I'm not above blackmail," he shrugged. "Though I do try to use actual facts; it can get a bit messy when it comes time to deal consequences, if I've lied about information."

"What is the consequence?" Vivienne licked her lips. "If I refuse your request, what exactly are you threatening to do to my uncle?"

Blaise grinned, and then dropped his gaze to admire his finger nails. "I'll ruin him," he said in a tone one might use to comment on the weather.

"How?"

"Your uncle is paying back the loan, in very small, almost worthless, amounts. There is no contract, except for the one he signed to say he would pay me back in full. I don't believe in due dates; not when there's money involved," he grinned again. "If you don't do as I've asked, I'll ensure your uncle is locked up and your cousins destitute before the end of the month."

"You'd do that to Daphne?"

"What do I care about Daphne?"

"You evil son of a bitch!"

"Ah, Vivienne. I knew you'd get me." He offered her another seductive grin, though his tone was impatient.

She glared at him from across the desk, her hands balled into fists in her lap. How her cousin had ended up pining over this manipulative prat for the better part of a decade, she would never understand.

"Fine," she bit out. "I'll have Granger reinstated."

"Excellent!" He rose from the chair and clapped his hands together once. Vivienne scowled, but stood to bid him goodbye. "Lovely doing business with you," he offered her his hand, and she took it reluctantly. He squeezed once, and then dropped her hand.

"Goodbye, Zabini." She waved from her desk, her tone sarcastic.

"Ciao, Greengrass," he returned the gesture over his shoulder. "Oh, wait." He pivoted and fixed her with a cold gaze. "It's Weasley now, isn't it?"

Vivienne fought the snarl that threatened to rip from her throat. Blaise inclined his head in lieu of a salutation, and then he was gone.


	8. Cross a Bridge, Burn a Bridge

Hermione could not remember the last time she had been late for work. In fact, it was probably safe to assume that she had never been late for work. She was known for her almost annoying habit of arriving anywhere early, and tapping her foot incessantly until whoever she was waiting for showed up.

Tardiness was just unacceptable in Hermione's view; evidence of a disorganised mind, she would say. So when she woke up on the dreary morning five minutes past her start time, her first reaction was panic.

Her eyes opened slowly, the sound of her beeping alarm clock decidedly missing; something was wrong. She sat up quickly, and the room spun. Her head pounded and she clutched her temples as she willed her eyes to focus.

"Shit!" She swore as the time finally swam into view.

She swallowed, the feeling of a thousand tiny razor blades burning all the way down. She groaned, though the sound was barely audible through her congested sinuses.

Oh Merlin, please no.

Hermione forced herself out of bed, and desperately launched herself towards her walk in wardrobe. She threw on a simple pair of black slacks and an old red blouse - no one cared what she looked like in the filing department – before checking her medicine cabinet for Pepper-Up Potion.

She'd run out.

"Damn it!" She croaked, wincing as the action further aggravated her throat. She slammed the cabinet shut and then Floo'd directly into the Ministry.

Hermione kept her head down as she marched across the marble floors towards the lifts. She entered one as the doors open, finding it blessedly empty except for a few inter-departmental memos. She sighed and leaned against the side of the lift as it sped backwards and then straight up. She need to find Atticus before she started in filing; she would not be any good to any one with her entire head feeling like it might explode.

The lift stopped with a shudder, and the cool female voice announced that Hermione had arrived at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She stepped out, her balance a little shaky, and slowly began her way towards the open plan office cubicles where Atticus worked.

"Hermione?"

Hermione's blood ran cold. She stopped dead in her tracks, but did not turn around. She squeezed her eyes shut and she wished the ground would just open up and swallow her.

"I've been looking for you everywhere." Vivienne appeared around Hermione's left elbow. The blonde looked her up and down, from the tips of her scuffed ballet flats to the top of her head, where she'd piled her curls in a messy bun. "Have you only just arrived?" She checked the watch on her wrist.

Hermione's cheeks flooded with warmth and she forced herself into a relaxed standing position. Vivienne looked at her expectantly, one eyebrow raised; though, Hermione noted, her eyes did not hold their usual malice.

"I'm sorry, Vivienne," she said hoarsely, "I woke up late with this cold." She gestured towards her face. "I'm just looking for Atticus; I'm afraid without a potion, I won't be able to work today." She tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible, but even without the hoarseness, her tone was irritated and impatient.

"It's fine," the witch bit out. Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "I need to speak with you. Come to my office."

The blonde turned on her heel and marched down the hall in the opposite direction. Hermione watched her leave, and then turned to look longingly back towards the open plan offices. Tears stung in the corner of her eyes.

Surely whatever mess I've made can wait until I've dealt with this stupid virus, she thought helplessly.

With one last glance over her shoulder, Hermione shuffled along the corridor towards Vivienne's office.

Vivienne was already sitting behind her desk when Hermione arrived. Her back was straight, and she was staring at her hands which lay twisted in front of her.

"Have a seat," she nodded towards the chairs facing her desk, but did not look at Hermione.

Hermione's stomach flipped over. Something big had happened; and if it only affected Hermione, Vivienne would be gloating about it, not sitting there fidgeting like she was about to tell a child mummy and daddy are getting a divorce.

Hermione's stomach swooped again. Maybe that was it – was Vivienne about to tell her she and Ron were getting divorced? Hermione glanced quickly at the blonde's left hand. Nope. The ring was still there.

She fought the blush that threatened at her neck; it was stupid to think Vivienne would share something like that with Hermione, anyway. Stupid, she thought to herself. Stupid, stupid.

Hermione frowned, her mind feeling sluggish under the effects of her illness. Think, she instructed herself. What could possibly affect both Vivienne and me?

Besides Ron, there wasn't anything that connected the witches, except for their work. If it had something to do with an old case of Hermione's surely that wasn't her problem anymore; since losing the Malfoy case and being sent to…

Wait.

Malfoy.

Hermione's head shot up and she stared at Vivienne's forehead.

"They're sending him back to Azkaban, aren't they?" Her already compromised voice was barely above a whisper as alarm coursed through her veins.

Vivienne met her gaze, her brow slightly creased. "No," she said slowly.

"But?" Hermione urged, her headache vetoing any attempt at a patient façade.

"But nothing," Vivienne snapped. "Draco isn't going back to prison."

Odd, Hermione thought, she almost seems disappointed. Weren't the Malfoys friends of the Greengrasses?

"I brought you in here today, Hermione," Vivienne shifted her gaze sideways so that she was addressing the wall, "to discuss your reinstatement to the Malfoy case."

Hermione's jaw dropped and she stared, wide mouthed and bug-eyed.

"I'm sorry?" She choked. "You want me to take over the case again?"

Vivienne paused, her mouth contorting as if she couldn't say what she really wanted to say.

"Yes," she said finally. "From today, you are once again Draco's case manager."

"Why? What happened?" Hermione demanded.

Vivienne bristled, her gaze back on Hermione. "That is unimportant."

Hermione wanted to argue. Whatever she had been expecting at work today, it was not this conversation. Ever curious, the brunette witch felt frustration bubble in her chest at the denial of knowing what was behind this very odd decision.

"I don't understand…" she spoke under her breath, but Vivienne heard her.

"It doesn't matter. Just go and do your job, Hermione, before I change my mind."

Hermione felt the smirk settle on her face before she could stop it. Who did the blonde witch think she was fooling? Vivienne had been fidgeting and avoiding eye contact throughout the meeting. Something had gone down; something that was outside of Vivienne's control, and Hermione wanted to know what it was.

"It doesn't seem like you have the power to make that sort of call anymore, Vivienne."

Hermione watched as Vivienne's cheeks flushed. A sick sense of satisfaction settled itself in her gut and she arched an eyebrow as the blonde woman glared back at her.

"Do you really want to find out? I could have your job like that!" She punctuated the last word with a click of her fingers.

Hermione laughed; a high, cruel sound that wasn't entirely like her. She rose slowly from the chair, still conscious of the way her head was pounding. Fainting in front of Vivienne when it finally seemed like she had gained the upper hand would not do. She placed her hands palms down on the desk and looked her boss in the eye.

"And how would that look, Vivienne? Harry Potter's best friend and the Wizarding World's Golden Girl sacked by the very institution she risked her life to save?"

Vivienne's lip curled menacingly and she spoke through clenched teeth. "You aren't as special as you think you are."

Hermione snorted and pushed herself away from the desk. "Get over yourself, Vivienne," she spat. "I'll go and collect the files from Morag. I'll have the report completed by the end of this week."

"See that you do," Vivienne snapped back. Hermione rolled her eyes, but bit back on her retort. After that exchange, she figured it wasn't a great loss if Vivienne had the last say. Without looking back, Hermione flounced from the office without shutting the door behind her.

Morag was sitting at her desk when Hermione barged in to her office, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. The elderly witch looked up, her quill poised above a thick case file. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but she recovered quickly.

"I need the Malfoy case file please, Morag." Hermione punctuated her sentence with the click of her heel as she came to a stop in front of the desk.

The old witch frowned and placed her quill carefully back in its ink pot. "I wondered whether you'd be along to collect it."

Hermione tapped her foot on the ground. She knew it was rude, but she was in something of a hurry; her head was pounding and her throat was actually aching with the force of speaking. All she wanted was to get the damn case file, send Atticus to the apothecary down the street, and retire to her office with a large pot of lemon tea.

Morag, clearly not sensing the young witch's urgency, stood carefully and turned to the bookshelf behind her. She ran a short, pale finger along the wood until she found the file labelled "MALFOY, Draco".

Morag handed the file to Hermione who held it against her chest, tucked under her chin.

"Thank you," she indicated the file with a nod of her head. She turned to leave.

"Oh, and Hermione?" Morag called, still standing behind her desk.

Hermione turned back around slowly, her face a picture of exasperation and exhaustion.

"Just be careful, when you go back there," she clasped her hands in front of her and Hermione frowned. "It appears the young Mister Malfoy spends his time in unsavoury company."

Morag spoke as if she was choosing her words very carefully, but the corners of her mouth twitched as though she was fighting a grim smile.

"What do you mean?" Hermione, unable to hide her curiosity, stepped back in to the office.

Morag opened and closed her mouth several times, and Hermione felt her limited patience wane. The older witch was a true bureaucrat in many ways; she wouldn't speak unless it directly followed a policy or procedure. But Hermione also knew she was a terrible gossip, second only to Atticus in their department.

"Well, he told me that Miss Parkinson had stayed the night the week I visited him." Morag's beady eyes shone as she spoke. "And if The Prophet is to be believed, Mister Zabini is back in town as well. I don't know either family particularly well, but I do know that they are close with the Malfoys. Just be careful."

Hermione flushed as the image of a girl with a face like a pug swam in her mind.

"Pansy Parkinson." She whispered.

"Yes, dear. That's the one." Morag smiled at her and tucked the back of her skirt against her legs before sitting down neatly. "It seems they've entered into a romantic endeavour; you realise what this means?"

Hermione thought that there were probably many answers to that question, but she had no clue as to which one Morag was referring to. Her head ached and the blood pounded in her ears. Deciphering the love life of Draco Malfoy was too much for one in such a condition.

She shook her head, and pinched the bridge of her nose to ease the throbbing in her sinuses.

"She's one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Morag leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially.

Hermione frowned. The term rang a bell, but where she had heard it before, she could not recall at that moment.

The brunette witch could see that Morag would continue on in this vain all day if Hermione was to let her, so she pasted a look of understanding on her face and nodded sagely.

"Of course," she said as she retreated towards the door. "Interesting. Thanks, Morag."

Morag looked slightly disappointed, but waved as Hermione exited her office. "You're welcome, Miss Granger."

Hermione clutched the files to her chest as she hurried down the corridor to her own office. She shut the door behind her and slowly sank in to her desk chair. Only when she was seated did she allow her arms to relax, and the Malfoy file dropped on to her desk.

Her heart was still pounding at the picture Morag had painted. Could it be true? Were Malfoy and Parkinson together?

She wasn't sure why she felt so strongly about them; she couldn't care less about Malfoy's love life. Then, she'd always had a bit of an Achilles heel where Pansy was concerned. As children, the Slytherin witch had taunted Hermione relentlessly, and was the cause for many a bathroom trip to cry in private.

Pansy had been everything Hermione was not; popular, cruel, aristocratic, entitled. She knew now that this meant nothing in the scheme of things; Hermione was a good person, she was successful, and for the most part she was happy. But her inner child squirmed uncomfortably as flashes of Pansy throwing insults at her in the corridors of Hogwarts danced in her mind.

Shaking her head, Hermione forced herself to refocus on the task at hand. Pansy was not only a threat to her ego; she could also derail Malfoy's case if the Ministry became suspicious of a relationship between the pair.

Then there was the matter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Morag's words niggled at her; she knew she'd heard the term somewhere before, perhaps even read it. But for the life of her, Hermione could not force the memory in its entirety to come to the surface. In moments like these, she longed for a Pensieve.

Yes, I'll definitely need to research into this – for the case, of course, she told herself.

Hermione sniffed. Mucous flowed down her nasal cavity and she swallowed thickly.

Ugh, disgusting! She thought, her face contorted into a grimace. Before I do anything, I need that medicine.

Reaching for her wand, she was about to send a memo to Atticus, when there was a sharp rap on her door and it flew open to reveal the dark haired wizard himself.

"There you are!" Atticus cried. Hermione sat back in her seat, startled by his sudden intrusion. She lowered her wand slowly.

"Atticus," she greeted him. "Excellent. I need you to get me some Pepper-Up potion." She rummaged in her desk draw and pulled out a handful of silver coins. "Here," she thrust them towards him.

"Uh…Hermione?" Atticus raised an eyebrow at the witch as he approached the desk and took the Sickles from her. "Is everything – are you - ?" He looked around the office as if the bookshelves might offer him the words he needed.

"I've been reinstated on the Malfoy case," she said quickly. "I'll fill you in when you get back." She nodded pointedly at the fist he was still holding in mid-air.

Atticus' eyes bugged, his mouth opening and closing in an attempt to keep from blurting out several questions at once. He swallowed.

"Oh," he lowered his hand. "Right. Of course." He turned on his heel and rushed from the office.

Hermione sighed in relief and leaned forward, her cheek resting on the desk.

At Malfoy Manor, Blaise was with Draco in the sitting room where the blond usually held his meetings with Granger.

"I don't want to know what you said to Vivienne Greengrass – Weasley – whatever," Draco took a gulp of Firewhiskey, "but I really appreciate it. Thank you."

"Just don't fuck up your chance this time," Blaise placed his empty glass on the coffee table. "Open up to Granger, and get your mother out of that hell hole."

Draco gave a grunt of consent. "I'll open up, don't worry. Your efforts won't be for nought."

"Just enough, though," Blaise corrected him. Draco frowned in confusion. "Open up to her just enough; not too much. She doesn't need to know the darkest Malfoy secrets, and she certainly doesn't need to know you."

Draco blanched and choked on his Firewhiskey. He pounded his chest with his left fist as he set the glass down, his eyes watering. When he had recovered, he stared at his friend.

"What on Merlin's green earth are you talking about? She doesn't need to know me? Where did that come from?"

Blaise offered him a grim smile. "Don't go there, Draco."

"Go where, you impossible prick?"

"There; with Granger. I know you think you can trust her, but I don't want to see you get hurt."

Draco opened and closed his mouth a few times before snapping it shut lest Blaise turn him into a goldfish. His head spun and he clutched it in his hands, leaning forward so that his elbows could rest on his thighs.

Granger and me? What a terrible and intriguing thought. Now that Blaise had mentioned it, Draco couldn't help but think of the brunette witch and the possibility of his friends' warning. Granger wasn't bad to look at, he supposed, though she wasn't what he'd call his 'type'.

Like I have a type? He asked himself. Azkaban didn't exactly run singles nights; he'd never seriously dated anyone. How could he know what his type was?

Get a grip. Granger is Granger, and even if she was the most beautiful witch in the world, I wouldn't go there. Bloody insufferable know-it-all, swot of a Gryffindor…

He shook his head in order to clear it, and forced himself back into the present. He couldn't bring himself to look at Blaise, though.

"First of all, you insufferable prat," Draco began, speaking to the carpet, "I'm concerned about your mental health if you honestly think there's a snowflake's chance in hell that I'd ever fall for Hermione Granger."

He paused, but Blaise made no attempt to cut in.

"Second of all," he smirked and glanced up. His friends' face was impassive. "I'm not going to fall for Hermione Granger." His smirk transformed into a grimace, though there was no real feeling in it.

"I'm only warning you out of concern, Draco." Blaise's eyes were wide and searched Draco's to the point of making the blond feel uncomfortable. Even though he knew Blaise was a useless Legilimens, he checked to ensure his walls were up. "An affair with Gryffindor's Princess may do wonders for your reputation in the short term, but it will only end in heartbreak; specifically yours."

Draco laughed, the first genuine laugh he'd had in over five years. "Have you been smoking something?" He rolled his eyes. "Blaise, I don't know what's possessed you to think this way, but I can assure you that nothing is going to happen. Come on," Draco paused, an easy grin spreading across his face. "It's Hermione Granger."

Blaise pursed his lips, but nodded at his friend.

"Fine." He stood to leave, wrapping his traveling cloak around his broad shoulders. "I'm heading back to Italy for a while; look after yourself, yeah?"

Draco accepted his manly hug, a quick affair involving a few hearty slaps on the back. He pulled back quickly.

"Sure," he nodded once, his hands stuffed deep in to his pockets. "And thanks again."

Blaise's mouth quirked into a lopsided smile before he strode towards the fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and disappeared into the green flames.

Draco dropped back into the armchair and raised his legs until they rested on the coffee table. His head dropped back against the soft material of the chair and he closed his eyes. His breath left him in a long, steady stream, a contradiction to the way his thoughts were firing inside his head.

Why would Blaise assume that there would be anything between him and Granger? They'd never been anything but sworn enemies since they were eleven. Sure, she'd taken on his case and apparently spoken at his trial…but that was her job, wasn't it? Hadn't it always been Granger's job to take care of those who needed to be taken care of?

Not that he would put himself in that category. While he was appreciative of the work she had done for him thus far, he'd hate to think that she saw him as some fixer-upper like Potter or Weasley. He crinkled his nose at the thought. No, this was just Hermione Granger, being what she was born to be – the Golden Girl.

There was probably something in it for her too, he reasoned. Surely she would have a massive sense of satisfaction knowing she was the one who orchestrated the Malfoy release. It was probably nothing more than her ego, hidden behind the war heroine smile and bookworm charm.

Wait, what? Granger wasn't charming. Draco's face contorted in disgust and his eyes flew open. In one fluid movement, he was up and out of the chair and striding back along the corridor towards his own living quarters. He mounted the stairs two at a time and hurried towards his study. He opened the door without breaking his stride, and flopped down in to his desk chair.

He needed something to work on; something that would stop him thinking about Hermione Granger, and the implications Blaise had woven into his thoughts.


	9. Letting Go

Draco winced as the cool, gloved hands of the Medi-Witch prodded at his side. He was sitting on the edge of his dining table shirtless, as the squat woman bustled around him.

"You're the picture of perfect health, Mister Malfoy," she chirped and removed the thin rubber gloves with a satisfying snap.

"Thanks," Draco muttered. "Um…" he cleared his throat and the Medi-Witch arched an eyebrow, but continued to pack up her things.

"I was wondering…" he cleared his throat again.

"Don't send yourself into a tizzy," the witch smiled as she took in the flush that had crept up his cheeks. "Miss Granger sent me an owl last night; I've got enough stock here to last you a month."

She pulled out several large vials; sleeping potions and calming draughts. Draco felt his shoulders slump with relief.

"Thank you," he said.

"Though," the Medi-Witch suddenly frowned. "Within that time, I'd really like to work with you on overcoming your need for these," she indicated the potions with a wave of her hand.

Draco swallowed thickly, but nodded his assent. He didn't want to spend his whole life relying on potions to be able to sleep at night, but the reality of the last fortnight was not a pleasant alternative.

She offered him an encouraging smile and clicked her case closed. Tugging it from the table, she bade him farewell and left the room.

Draco frowned as he reached for his shirt and slid his arms into it. As he buttoned it up to his throat, he slid from the table and turned to glance at the range of medicine laid upon it. It was amazing, he thought, how much better he already felt simply knowing he had access to it once more.

Gratitude bubbled in his chest, and a mad idea burst and then died in his mind in the same breath; I should owl Granger to thank her.

He stiffened, one foot in front of the other. It wasn't as though Granger wasn't deserving of his thanks; she definitely was, even just for the Medi-Witch visit this morning. But the idea of sending her a personalised thank you? He blanched at the mere thought.

He shook himself roughly and continued on his way to his study. He wanted to pore over some more of the tomes he'd pulled from the library on Death Eater trials, from both the first rising and the second.

As he settled himself behind his long wooden desk, however, Draco was unable to erase the brunette witch from his mind. He pulled a leather bound book towards him with a growl, but the memory of their meeting yesterday kept him from absorbing any information.

At five minutes to eight in the morning, Draco descended the stair case that led down to the foyer and the front hallway. He willed his heart rate to ease, but it continued to gallop along as if it was trying to jump out of his chest.

She'll be here, he told himself; it wouldn't make any sense for her not to show up now.

He straightened his back and forced himself to look straight ahead, at the front door. He called for Miksy, who appeared at his side with a sound like a whip.

"Go and turn the lights on in the sitting room, please." He commanded.

The elf bowed low and disappeared to do what her Master had asked.

The blond began to pace. She's not going to show. Panic rose within him like a wave, threatening to drown him. As his breathing became shallow and his palms became clammy, a shiver ran up his spine to alert him to someone entering his wards.

Thank Merlin.

His shoulders slumped in relief for just a moment, before he resumed his rigid stance. He moved stiffly towards the door, and waited just inside it for the witch to arrive.

She knocked smartly on the wooden door. Draco inhaled sharply and squared his shoulders. Leaning forward, he grasped the cool metal handle in his right hand, twisted, and pulled towards him. The door swung open to reveal the slightly frazzled form of Hermione Granger.

"Hi, sorry I'm early," she said breathlessly. She shifted the files so that they rested in the crook of her arm.

Draco didn't know why, but he felt a surge of anger burn up his chest. Before he could stop it, it made its way out of his mouth.

"Nice of you to show up, Granger." The second the words had passed his lips, he wished he could take them back.

The witch looked up at him, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted.

"Excuse me?" She shook her head, her crazy curls bouncing around her shoulders.

Draco gritted his teeth and moved stiffly to the side so that she could pass him. He lifted one arm and gestured for her to come in. She raised her eyebrows at him in question, but she crossed the threshold and began to move further into the hallway.

"Wow," she glanced back at him, a small smile on her face. "You've turned the lights on."

It was a simple observation, Draco knew. She was probably pointing out the difference because it made her feel safer, and would make it easier for her to do her job.

But as she admired the room, Draco felt his irritation only increase. He flexed his hands as they tried to tighten into fists.

"Would you like tea?" He growled.

Granger stopped as she was about to turn and sit in her usual armchair. Draco had begun to call it Granger's chair in his mind, and the reminder caused a vein to pulse unpleasantly in his neck.

"Mister Malfoy," Granger's eyes raked over him. "Are you feeling alright?"

Draco blinked. He could feel his face heating up as she continued to appraise him. Concern was written all over her face and he hated it. He'd never wanted to be pitied or cared for, least of all by her.

Emotions churned like the ocean inside of him. On the one hand, he knew Granger had helped to free him, and he still needed her; first, for himself, and second for his mother. The fact that he relied on the brunette witch, and would have to not only open up to her today, but also ask for more of her help, was almost too much for the blond to bear.

"It's just," she began to move towards him, palms out, "you snapped at me in the doorway, and now – "

The dam inside of Draco burst open.

"Now I seem a little tense?" He growled.

"Well – "

"Because I am tense, Granger." He could hear himself speaking, but it was like he was having an out of body experience, watching himself act without thought from above. "But I'm sure you can understand why; last week I was left here like an abandoned child, assuming that I'd be back in Azkaban before seeing the next sunrise!" His voice had risen and he was properly shouting, but Granger was still standing in front of him, regarding him with a confused expression.

"What?"

"Is all that hair clouding your ability to understand simple pieces of information, Granger?" He spat. "I'm saying, no one turned up."

"Malfoy." She had folded her arms across her chest, but she lifted one slowly towards him to stop his tirade. "I'm not following." Her voice was businesslike, but she spoke through her teeth as if trying very hard to rein in her anger. "Thanks to you, I've been in the Merlin forsaken filing department since I was taken off your case three weeks ago." She paused to close her eyes for a fraction of a second. She placed one hand on her hip, the other coming to rest over her eyes. "I was only reinstated this week; Tuesday, in fact. What do you mean no one turned up last week?"

He could practically hear her brain whirring as the hand over her face slackened and fell to her side. When she opened her eyes, they held a look of perpetual exhaustion, but also a fiery determination.

Draco hesitated; he wanted to shout some more. He wanted to relieve his chest of the burden of so many emotions, but he knew she was genuine; he'd seen that look of curiosity far too many times in the classrooms of Hogwarts not to recognise it for what it was.

"I mean," he cleared his throat in an effort to calm his voice, "that I didn't have a meeting last week." He jutted out his chin and folded his arms across his chest.

"But what about Morag?" Granger bit her lip and Draco was momentarily distracted.

"Um – " he stuttered.

Merlin, pull yourself together he berated himself.

"Morag was here the week before. I told her I'd only talk to you; she said she'd see what she could do. And then…"

He took a deep breath.

"You're telling me," Granger's arms had dropped back to her sides, "that you have not seen a case worker in two weeks now?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously and Draco briefly wondered if she was going to slap him like in third year. He felt foolish for thinking it, but an angry Hermione Granger was not something to be taken lightly. As often as he'd seen her excited over classwork, he'd also seen her angry. And Merlin, was she angry now.

"No," he said calmly, the anger having left him at the sight of Granger's flushed face.

"Bollocks!" The brunette witch flung her arms wide and then let them drop again. She turned away from Draco, one hand coming to rest on her hip. The other she raised to her hair, tangling it in to the unruly curls.

"Unbelievable," she whipped around. Angry red splotches had appeared on her cheeks and her eyes were glassy, though she didn't sound on the verge of tears. "That fucking bitch is playing with fire and she's bloody well going to get burnt!"

Her eyes locked with Draco's, her chocolate orbs widening as she realised her mistake.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. The hand on her hip dropped listlessly to her side, while the other clutched her throat. "That was so unprofessional of me."

Draco couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face. "It's fine, Granger." He said; and he meant it. He wasn't used to having Hermione Granger's wrath directed at someone other than him…well, maybe Ronald Weasley, but he hardly counted.

"Is the tea still on offer?" She said in a small voice. Her hands were running over the pleats in her skirt, an obvious attempt at regaining her composure.

"Sure," Draco nodded. With a click of his fingers, Miksy appeared and he ordered their tea. The little elf bowed low to both of them before disapparating away.

He was still feeling rather annoyed, but he no longer wanted to take it out on Granger.

"Have a seat." His voice was more serious than intended, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she rolled her eyes and did as he bade, crossing one leg over the other.

Draco sat across from her in his usual spot, and watched intently as she busied herself with her files. She seemed nervous, and he wondered with a pang of remorse if his outburst had caused her to question taking on his case again. He sat up a little straighter in his seat, and clasped his hands in front of him as if he was once again a First Year sitting in Minerva McGonagall's Transfiguration class.

Granger glanced up and opened her mouth to begin, but there was a loud crack and a silver tray appeared, two skinny legs barely visible under the small feast of tea and pastries.

"Miksy has your tea!" the house elf squeaked as the tray swooped and dipped dangerously across the room. Hermione jumped to her feet, her files scattering on to the floor.

"Here," she took the tray from Miksy and smiled at her. The elf's eyes widened and she looked fervently at Malfoy. He starred pointedly at his elf, and her gaze quickly dropped to the floor, where it remained as she shuffled backwards towards the door.

As she disappeared, Hermione sighed and turned to place the tray on the coffee table. Her head still full of questions regarding the treatment of his slaves, Hermione did not notice that Malfoy had left his seat. It was only when she bent down to collect her fallen papers and her head connected with his, that she realised that he had beaten her to the job.

"Ow!" He cried, dropping the files again and clutching his head with both hands. "Do you always attack people when they try to help you, Granger?" He sat back, still holding his head. Hermione was mimicking his actions, and watched him grimace through watery eyes.

"I didn't realise you were there," she bit out. He scoffed and pulled himself back up on to his haunches, using the armchair for support.

Draco grinned and rubbed his temple at the memory. His book lay in front of him forgotten, and he stretched backwards in his chair.

She had smelt nice, he remembered; like lavender and parchment. Her hair had been soft against his cheek, not at all like the wiry mess he had assumed it would be. The sound she had made as their skulls connected, a soft inhale, had sent shivers down his spine.

Once again, a tingle started at the nape of his neck, making the fine blond hairs there stand on end as he remembered. His smile began to widen, before common sense crashed over him like an icy shower.

Get a grip he internally growled at himself; this is exactly what Blaise was talking about!

Blaise. The git.

Draco's smile fell like dominos to be replaced by a dirty sneer.

It was all his fault really, Draco reasoned. If Blaise hadn't opened his mouth, Draco wouldn't be thinking like this.

He shook his head and stood abruptly from his desk; he needed to find something else to focus on – clearly legal tomes were not going to keep his thoughts from straying to his brunette case worker.

He jogged down the stairs, as if trying to run from something particularly unpleasant. Unfortunately, that unpleasantness was located in his mind, making it impossible to run from.

"Fucking Zabini," he hissed.

"So you had no meeting last week; were you expecting me this morning?"

Her voice had regained its business-like tone, but the flush had not entirely left her cheeks.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I knew you were coming today."

"How?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Blaise."

Granger's face twisted in confusion. Draco could practically hear the cogs turning; surely she'd remember the name, if not the face.

"Zabini?"

"The one and only."

Granger frowned. Draco decided he rather liked it when she didn't know things. He smirked to himself before continuing.

"Blaise went to see your boss," he said slowly. "Convinced her to put you back on the case."

Granger's eyebrows shot up.

"Really?"

Draco nodded and watched her hands move excitedly, rifling through her stack of parchment until she pulled a blank piece to the top of the pile. She flicked the tip of her quill with her wand, a simple inking charm Draco noticed.

"Zabini; can we trust him?" She did not look at him, instead beginning to scribble on the parchment.

It was Draco's turn to act surprised.

"Blaise? I'd trust him with my life."

Granger gave a grunt of assent and continued to write.

"Why?"

"I'm a lawyer," she looked up and smirked at him. "I need to know who is on our side, and who's not."

Our side. The words bounced around in his skull and he feared he might swoon or giggle. Get a grip, he urged himself. Malfoy's don't react so foolishly; especially not to words from Hermione sodding Granger.

"Pansy Parkinson." She shuffled some papers again and fixed him with what could only be described as a cold glare.

"What about her?"

"Can she be trusted?"

"I don't - ?"

"She visited you," Granger tapped the parchment with the end of her quill. "Two weeks ago; do you or do you not trust her?"

Draco schooled his features into a mask of indifference. He shrugged.

"With small things," he said slowly. "I guess."

"And yet you allowed her to stay with you overnight?"

If he didn't know any better, Draco would have sworn he heard Granger's teeth grind together. She was staring at him with hard eyes, and he had to physically stop himself from shrinking back into his chair.

"She's a friend, Granger." His voice had taken on an icy tone, but he needed to convey that Pansy was neither a threat, nor a true ally, when it came to his case with the Ministry.

"Is that all?"

"Merlin's tits, yes!" Draco rolled his eyes, partly at the question and partly at his reaction to it.

"I'm sorry," Granger said primly, though she didn't sound at all apologetic. "But if you think the Ministry is prying by asking about interactions between you and your parents, you're in for something ten times worse should they believe that you are in a relationship with one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

And so they had arrived at the purpose of the visit; well, sort of. Draco felt his heart sink lower in his chest until he would have sworn it was snuggled up to his stomach. Too late, he realised his jaw had dropped open. He snapped it closed, but not before he earnt himself a sly smirk from the brunette witch.

"I'm not in a relationship with Pansy," he muttered, keeping his gaze locked on Granger's. "She invited herself over, and I couldn't get her to leave. She slept in one of the spare rooms in my quarters. That's it."

He swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

Granger nodded once and then bent over her notes. When she glanced back up at him, she looked decidedly more relaxed.

She sighed and Draco's breath caught on an inhale.

This is it.

"Let me just get to the real reason I'm here; your parents."

Draco exhaled through his teeth.

"You have to understand, this is difficult for me…"

"You said you would answer the question if I agreed to take over your case again." Her eyes flashed and Draco fought the urge to yell at her.

"I said it was difficult, Granger, not impossible; calm your charms."

"I received a letter from my father the first week of my release," he swallowed thickly and began picking at non-existent lint on his trousers, "and I received another, last week."

He glanced back up at the witch, but all he could see was the top of her head as she bent over her files. He briefly wondered if she appreciated the lamps being lit; probably not, with the way her hair's blocking all of the light out anyway. He stifled a laugh.

"And your mother?"

Any sense of mirth disappeared from his body, like water being squeezed out of a sponge.

"Nothing," he whispered, shaking his head. "I wrote to her." He paused and cleared his throat, finding it suddenly tight. "But I…" he cleared it again. "She didn't respond."

He was looking at his shoes, shiny black dragon hide loafers bought for him by his mother just before he'd been sentenced. He swallowed thickly, noting that he could no longer hear the scratching of a quill for the ringing in his ears.

He glanced up, intent on asking the question; can you help my mother? But the look on Granger's face took all the words from his throat.

He had expected pity; perhaps a simpering pout of false understanding. Maybe she'd shake her head and tut, like his governess had done when he was a child and he'd upended yet another ink pot over the carpet.

He was definitely not expecting the expression he was greeted with as he and Granger locked eyes. Her face was twisted in a picture of ire; her eyebrows knitted together, and her mouth was as thinner than he'd ever seen it. Her jaw was clenched, and her breathing was audible as she almost hyperventilated.

Draco was not completely useless when it came to reading body language and emotions in the face of a woman; the only word for what Hermione Granger was feeling was furious. A sudden rush of warmth bloomed in his chest as he took in the fiery witch in front of him; he would tell himself hours later that it was because the brunette obviously cared about the wellbeing of his mother almost as much as he did.

"Granger?"

She shook herself, brown curls bouncing, and blinked at him.

"Sorry," she whispered. She cleared her throat.

"Let's continue. Next question…"

"Wait," Draco interrupted. "Don't you want to know what the letters said?"

Granger's lips quirked up into a smirk to rival one of his own.

"I'm sure the Ministry would like to know," she nodded slowly. "But it doesn't specifically state that I have to ask you that, so…" She let the sentence hang between them, the smirk still on her face.

Draco couldn't help but smile.

They finished the interview quickly, and then Draco stood to accompany the brunette to the front door. As they reached the entry, he stopped and turned to face her. He had never noticed how much smaller than him she was; her personality and crazy hair had always made her seem so much larger. He cleared his throat.

"Um," he began. "I just – " He exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair.

"Malfoy?" She frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Thank you," he blurted out.

"I – "

"For what you did…for me and…for me and my family." He stuttered.

"Oh." She blinked, her expression still slightly confused. "Um…you're welcome."

"Morag told me," he supplied needlessly. She nodded, shuffling her weight from foot to foot.

"I see."

"Yeah."

"Well I'd – " She said at the same time he said;

"Have a – "

She smiled. He grimaced; he didn't think he'd ever been this embarrassed. That was saying something, seeing as once he'd been turned into a ferret in front of half the Hogwarts student body.

"Bye, Malfoy."

"See you, Granger."


	10. One Step Forward

"You're going to wear a hole in my carpet," Harry joked. Hermione scowled at him in response but did not break her stride.

"This isn't funny, Harry," she seethed. "An innocent man was left without proper care for a fortnight due to that bimbo's negligence!"

Harry made a face. "Bit of a stretch, isn't it? 'Innocent man'…" he trailed off as Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously and she came to stop in front of his desk.

"In your opinion," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

Harry felt the fight go out of him; there was no point in arguing with a wound up Hermione.

"Did you see Vivienne after you returned from the Manor?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Of course I did," she spat. "I was so angry, Harry; I don't think I've ever been that angry."

Her hands had started to shake at the memory and she clasped them behind her back as she continued to pace.

"What was her excuse?"

"She didn't give me one; just a bold face lie – that Malfoy had been seen by a case worker. As if I hadn't double checked the file after he'd made the claim." She made a noise of derision through her nose.

"That's it?"

"No," Hermione grinned. "I threatened her job."

"You what?" Harry was going for cool intrigue, but the smile on his face gave away his mirth.

"Malfoy missing his case worker meetings because the Ministry failed to provide a case worker flies in the face of at least five different policies; three of which were drawn up specifically for the Malfoy case after Draco was released."

Harry's smile slipped at the mention of the blond's first name, but Hermione didn't seem to have noticed that she'd said it.

"So why not turn her in? At least then you'd be rid of her."

Hermione made a face. "As tempting as that is, I'd probably also lose the case…again. Plus, the Wizengamot would likely throw Draco back in Azkaban, and all my work will be for nought."

Harry blinked at the mention of his name again. Before he could query Hermione, she continued.

"I figure that slowly torturing Vivienne would be much more fun anyway. This whole thing has me wanting revenge with every fibre of my being."

"Revenge, you say?" He arched an eyebrow. "How very Slytherin of you."

Hermione grimaced. Slytherin? What a terrible thought.

She placed her hands flat on Harry's desk and loomed over him. He leaned back slightly so that he could still look her in the eyes.

"What were you thinking?" He frowned.

"Nothing that I wasn't already planning," Hermione replied innocently. "Now it will be that much sweeter when I make the impossible possible."

The witch stood up straight and resumed her pacing.

"Which is…?" Harry prompted.

Hermione stopped in her tracks and exhaled slowly. She turned back to face him, her expression now apprehensive but also determined. Harry winced; he knew that look too well.

She was walking a fine line, having this conversation with Harry. Hermione knew where Harry stood on this matter; they had had many rows over it. Unfortunately for Hermione, while she knew Harry would not meet her request with positive enthusiasm, he was also her only hope.

"I need you to understand this Harry." Her eyes were glassy and bore in to his as she spoke. "I know that you don't really get why I took the Malfoy case in the first place, but please, try to wrap your head around the fact that I need to finish what I started."

Hermione moved back towards him and came to rest in the centre of the room. Harry sighed and slowly removed the round spectacles from his face. He ran a scarred hand across his mouth, and Hermione noticed for the first time the puffiness of his eyes. He raised his head slowly, and met her gaze.

"You're right, Hermione," he said softly. "I've never understood why you'd risk anything for Malfoy, let alone your own happiness." His eyes had hardened into an accusatory glare.

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together and she opened her mouth to defend herself, but Harry held up his hand. She snapped her jaw closed, though the frown was still etched on her face.

"Whatever your reasons, while I may not understand them," he continued, "I do respect them. So," his face had softened and Hermione felt her heart leap in her chest, "I will do what I can to help you."

Hermione couldn't help but grin as relief settled like a stone in her stomach.

"Oh, thank you Harry!" She squealed. "Thank you!"

"On one condition," he ducked his head slightly so that he was looking at her from over the rim of his glasses. Hermione gulped, but nodded, her grin fading fast. "I'm not getting involved – I won't speak at a trial, I will not be giving a statement, and I flat out refuse to ever being in the same room as any of them." His mouth settled into a hard line, a rare instance when Harry Potter resembled their old Transfiguration teacher. Hermione knew it would do her no good to argue.

"I accept your terms," she said quickly. "I promise you won't need to go before the Wizengamot, or sign anything, or ever lay your eyes on the Malfoys," Harry bowed his head in thanks. "But I do need you to talk to Dewsong." Harry's head snapped up again and Hermione flinched at the look on his face.

"Dustin Dewsong?" He snapped. "Why?"

"Because," Hermione huffed and threw herself into a chair. "He hates me."

Harry rolled his eyes. It was okay for him, Hermione thought; he didn't have to answer to the money-hungry git on a daily basis.

Hermione had never suffered fools easily; she'd prided herself on this even when she was a child. Dustin Dewsong might have wormed his way up the slippery corporate ladder, but he was one of the biggest fools Hermione had ever had the misfortune of meeting. When she had to deal with him face to face, she was often reminded of the troll she, Harry, and Ron had met in their first year at Hogwarts.

"And what do you need me to say?" Reluctantly, he reached for a blank piece of parchment and his quill.

"I need you to convince him that I need to visit Narcissa Malfoy."

Harry's hand paused over the top of the parchment. He gripped his quill tighter in his fingers and pursed his lips. Hermione could practically hear his brain working.

"Is there any point in me asking why?" He finally asked, his tone clipped.

Hermione hesitated. She really did want to tell Harry about the case she was currently working on; she knew that Harry would have good insight into how best to go about realising her goal. But those same opinions were a source of tension between her and the emerald-eyed wizard, and while she valued his input probably more than anyone else's, she wasn't ready to have that fight.

"No," she replied slowly.

Harry sighed. "Have you spoken to Vivienne about the visit?"

"No," Hermione scoffed. "I've screamed at her twice in the past week; she'd sooner grant me a million-Galleon raise than allow me to pursue this case."

Hermione indicated Harry's hand that still held the quill, poised above the blank parchment.

"I don't know why you think he'll listen to me," he grumbled as he signed his name.

Hermione snorted. "You're Harry Potter," she said. "Think of Dewsong like Slughorn, only sleazier and way more willing to break the law." Harry raised his eyebrows and Hermione nodded. "He'll listen to you because he'll want to be kept in your good books. Also, he's a total misogynistic pig, and if it's one thing Vivienne doesn't have, it's a male appendage."

"A dick?" Harry smirked, clearly pleased with his crude attempt at humour.

"No, she's got one of them," Hermione quipped. "His name is Ronald."

Harry spluttered as Hermione smirked at him from across the desk. She stood slowly and regarded her friend, who was still caught between mirth and shock.

"Thanks Harry," she said, suddenly serious. "I mean it; I really appreciate you doing this for me."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry waved a hand dismissively. His actions suggested annoyance, but his tone was kind. "Just remember I'm doing this for you, Hermione; not them."

Hermione nodded once and bid him goodbye.

Draco had thought of little else but his brunette case manager since her last visit the previous week.

At first, he told himself that it was because he still hadn't asked her to help him with his mother's case. No letters had come from Narcissa or Lucius, despite Draco writing almost every second day. He could not be sure his letters were reaching the remote island, but this thought did little to assuage his fears. The growing sense of dread had taken up residence in the pit of his stomach.

But when he caught himself thinking about the way Hermione's face would scrunch in concentration as she took notes during their meeting, and how she often tucked stray strands of hair behind her ear, he blamed his house arrest. Being cooped up without anyone for company – unless you counted the elves, which he didn't – even in such a large house such as his, it was bound to happen. It was normal, he reasoned, to fixate on the one regular source of communication, which just happened to be Hermione Granger.

That's all it was. And he'd believed it…until, that is, he stupidly compared his case manager with Pansy Parkinson.

If he wanted female company, it would have been all too easy. Pansy would leap at the chance to spend a night or two warming his bed sheets; and yet, the thought of contacting Pansy made him feel physically ill. Besides, she didn't smell as good as Granger, wasn't as smart, and was definitely nowhere near as pretty…

It was at the end of this train of thought Draco had realised Blaise may not have been grasping at straws when he had given his warning.

By the time Friday arrived, Draco had resigned himself to the fact he was mildly attracted to Granger, but was also of the firm opinion that it was entirely her fault. This had to be a case of Stockholm syndrome, or something like it. He'd done some reading about psychotic infatuation, though he wouldn't admit his feelings ran that deep for the witch, and stumbled across the term.

It was definitely her fault. She was essentially holding him as her prisoner, and now thanks to her manipulative nature, he was under her spell.

Unsurprisingly, he was very cross about it.

He refused to wait at the door as he had done last week, and instead sat with a bored expression in the sitting room. The lights were once again on, though he assured himself this was for his convenience, not hers; his plan was to look for every flaw in her features and demeanour, with the goal of reminding himself that she was nothing more than an evil hussy.

Except…when Hermione trotted into the sitting room at exactly 9am, she didn't look like an evil hussy.

Her hair was down; fluttering around her shoulders like a larger-than-life halo and her face was flushed with exertion. Her eyes danced and she smiled easily as her gaze fell on him.

"Good morning," she greeted him as she made her way to her seat.

He nodded in response.

She stopped momentarily to regard him, a small frown gracing her features before she sat.

"How are you, Mister Malfoy?"

"Fine," he bit out.

Hermione ignored his tone. "Let's begin, shall we?"

"As if I have a choice…" he muttered under his breath.

If she heard him, Hermione didn't let on.

"Any visitors this week?" Her tone was still cheery, but her eyes had turned cold.

"No."

"Definitely no Pansy?"

"I said no, Granger. Surely one syllabic words aren't too difficult for you to understand."

Hermione pursed her lips. "I only ask because it's imperative to your case that we keep any romantic relationships a secret."

"Trust me Granger," Draco spoke in a monotone. "If I was dating Pansy, it would be a bloody secret. I wouldn't want anyone to know." He made a face but Hermione's eyes narrowed as if trying to detect him in a lie.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, woman!" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "I'm not dating Pansy. Anyone would think you'd developed a crush, Granger, the way you carry on."

His heart was beating a staccato in his chest and every fibre of his being was screaming at him to stop talking; with the amount of time he had spent thinking about the witch this week, this was a dangerous path to walk.

"I mean," he continued despite the voice in his head screaming at him to stop, "I know I'm handsome, but surely the Brightest Witch of Our Age must know when she's barking up the wrong tree!"

Hermione felt her cheeks heat. What a ludicrous thing to say!

Draco knew that he was being unfair. As if someone like Hermione Granger would ever be interested in him. Half of him felt guilty; the other, unfortunately stronger half, felt anger at this realisation.

"Weasley still married to your boss?" He quipped.

"Excuse me?"

He revelled in the blush that darkened her cheek bones. So she should be embarrassed; serves her right for being all holier-than-thou around him.

"Don't you think it's time you let him go?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Granger ground her teeth together, her chagrin quickly turning to anger.

"Don't I?" Draco leaned back in his chair and shot her a smirk.

Though he looked relaxed, Hermione detected an underlying simmer of rage; but why he was so stroppy, she could not place.

"No. So drop it."

"Why?" He countered. "You seem to have taken a personal interest in my love life," he looked her up and down as if sizing her up. "It's only fair that I should return the favour." He emphasised the word 'favour' as if it were something deliciously forbidden.

Hermione felt a shiver run up her spine. She realised, probably too late if the smirk on Malfoy's face was anything to go by, that her jaw had dropped. She hastened to snap it shut.

"I do not have a personal interest in your love life," she hissed between gritted teeth. "In case you've forgotten, it is my job to know the company you keep so that I can keep you out of Azkaban. I apologise if that's inconvenient to you."

"Not at all, Granger." He drawled. "Just highly unfair, don't you think?" He arched an eyebrow and attempted a pout that came off as more of a satirical simper.

"No, I don't." She cleared her throat. "I'd like to get back to business, if you don't mind."

She hurried on as Malfoy opened his mouth as if he were about to insist that their wayward conversation was business.

"Actual business," she amended. "The kind I'm paid to do."

Her words hit him like a bucket of ice. He had often thought of Hermione Granger as a bit of an ice queen, though more in the sense that she'd be the type of girl who would make a guy wait for it. The type of frigid prude who relished in the idea of keeping a man waiting by dangling sex like a carrot in front of him; all talk and no walk.

To him, Granger's public side had always been warm; fiery, even. He could recount any of their interactions, and in not one of them had she been as cold and as cut off as she appeared now.

And that angered him like nothing else.

"Of course," he bit out.

His tone was venomous and his face fell into a sneer worthy of his fifteen year old self.

Hermione recoiled as his eyes flashed. What in the world…

"You're here because you're paid to be. Tell me, Granger, what percentage of my Gringotts vault have you taken for yourself? I'll bet the Wizengamot would have agreed to just about any sum, if it meant keeping the Golden Girl happy."

As the words left his mouth, Draco instantly regretted them. Though, as he rationalised with himself later, at least they seemed to have melted the icy façade.

"How – how dare you!" Hermione rose from her seat and dropped her parchment into it. "I would never – why you'd think that – what am I saying?" She ran a hand through her hair, eyes darting around the room. "Of course you'd think that."

She began to pace.

"As if you could ever believe that someone would do something for you just because it was the right thing to do." She rounded on him. "You know what, Malfoy?"

Hermione stepped slowly forwards until she stood in front of him, the toes of her sensible work heels brushing the foot of the arm chair.

Draco didn't have time to realise that she was effectively standing between his legs, and that the way she stood over him gave him the opportunity to admire her cleavage. Hermione Granger wasn't a witch you perved on, at least not when she was angry and spewing truths you didn't want to hear.

He concentrated on her face and worked to keep his impassive.

"I feel sorry for you," she whispered, her gaze locked on his. "You've never had anyone – not one person – stand up for you because they actually believe in you, or like you. Your parents threw you to the wolves to protect themselves; even your own mother couldn't save you, or wouldn't, I guess that's a possi- "

"Don't!" He stood quickly, his movement causing the brunette witch to stumble backwards.

He chased her, until their chests were almost touching. She had to look up at him now, and this change in the distribution of power seemed to snap Hermione out of her tirade. Her eyes were wide and her mouth parted, and had she not insulted his parents, he might have forgotten why he was pressed against her, chest heaving with emotion.

"My mother loves me," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "And I don't need you to know that."

"Mister Malfoy, I –"

"Save it, Granger." He spat. "I don't care that you don't understand my family; I don't want you to. And at least," he took a step back, seemingly collecting himself. "I have a family…"

He let the implication hang in the air and watched as what remained in Granger's lungs left her in one harsh exhale. She slumped back into the armchair she had vacated moments ago, crushing her notes beneath her.

He could not deny that some part of him enjoyed the fact that he had cracked the Gryffindor witch, even if the rest of him felt like a right bastard.

"How do you even know that?" She whispered.

Granger stared down at her lap as she used the back of her hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"I – " Shit. He hadn't meant to make her cry.

What did you think was going to happen, you arse?

He sighed and tried again, hoping his voice wouldn't crack.

"I read about it," he said as he returned to his seat, hands in his trouser pockets. "I had all of the Daily Prophets from the past five years delivered straight after my release. I wanted to know what I'd missed…"

Hermione sniffed. Of course he had.

"Right," she cleared her throat and slowly raised her head. Her cheeks were tear stained and her eyes red rimmed, but she seemed more determined than ever. "Do you think you've had enough of this game?" She asked. "Or would you like to torture me some more?"

"I didn't – "

She snorted.

"Oh please," she said. She tugged at the parchment beneath her and smoothed it out over her knees. "Now," she picked up a quill. "Where were we?

Draco watched, the guilt slowly mounting, as he answered Granger's questions. He attempted an apologetic tone as he spoke, but even to his own ears he just came across as squeaky.

"Right then," Hermione stood and began to gather her things. "That's it for today." Her tone was monotonous, as it had been throughout the duration of questioning.

Draco Malfoy had effectively put out her fiery spark.

Today couldn't possibly get any worse.

She sighed as she entered her office, slumping against the closed door and breathing deeply.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the Gods were intent on proving that today could indeed get worse.

A memo in the shape of a heart lay in the middle of her desk, the garishly pink parchment reminding Hermione for one terrible moment of Dolores Umbridge. She swallowed thickly as she advanced towards her desk and picked up the note gingerly between two fingers.

Hermione,

Please come to see me in my office as soon as you return from Malfoy Manor. I have urgent business to discuss with you.

Vivienne Weasley

Hermione groaned, a long, low sound that became increasingly animalistic as it went on.

Hermione marched, impatience rolling off her in waves, down the corridor towards Vivienne's office. Without knocking, she forced open the door, ready to face whatever Vivienne wanted to throw at her this time.

She was greeted with an eyeful of Vivienne's cleavage as it bounced in Ron's large hands. He had her leaning backwards over her desk, his groin rubbing furiously against hers. His Auror robes had been flung over the back of one of the visitor chairs, and her skirt was hitched around her thighs. The pale pink jacket hung loosely from her shoulders, and the white blouse was completely unbuttoned. They looked up as the door swung open, revealing a shocked Hermione.

"I'm so sorry!" She squeaked, and fled to her own office.

Breathing heavily, she slammed her door shut and waved her wand towards it, successfully locking it from anyone who would want to disturb her.

She dropped her files unceremoniously on to her desk and slumped in her seat. Dropping her head into her hands, she began to sob. Despite what everyone thought, she really was over Ron; she had been the same day he'd run out on their wedding and married Vivienne instead. But she wasn't over the loss of one of her best friends and a future that was no longer possible. Finally, she allowed herself to mourn as tears poured from her eyes and splashed down the front of her robes.

She sobbed until the tears dried up and her shoulders ached. Wiping her eyes, she forced herself up, supporting her weight against her desk. She began rearranging her desk, stacking papers and sorting quills into parallel lines.

As she was finishing, there came a knock at the door, and she waved her wand to unlock it.

"Come in," she called and positioned herself in her chair.

"Uh…Hermione? Can we talk?"

Her stomach dropped as Ron appeared around the door.

"Sure, Ronald. What do you want?" she crossed her arms against her chest; a defence mechanism.

"I'm sorry…for what you saw back there," he shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. Hermione noted that the tips of his ears were red, and she felt a savage pleasure ripple through her chest.

"I should have knocked." Hermione waved her hand dismissively.

"Well, I'm sorry anyway." Ron looked at his toes.

"Apology accepted," she said stiffly.

"Would you like to get some lunch?" Ron glanced at her for the first time, his blue eyes locking on to hers. Her voice caught in her throat and she coughed determinedly.

"No, thank you." She tilted her chin up, "I am very busy at the moment."

"Oh," Ron looked down at the mess that was her floor. "Maybe another time?"

Hermione gave him a tight smile. "I don't think so."

Ron sighed. "I said I was sorry," he muttered.

"And I said that I accept your apology."

"Then go to lunch with me." His voice held a familiar whine which Hermione recognised as the tone he had adopted during the latter stages of their relationship; apparently, it got him what he wanted with most other women. Unfortunately for him, Hermione wasn't anything like most women.

"No."

"Why not?"

She stood suddenly, her palms splayed on the desk in front of her as she leant over it. Though she was a good foot shorter than Ron, and had to look up into his face to seethe at him, he took a step backwards as he met her gaze.

"You broke my heart, Ron! You broke my heart and now you think you can waltz in here and ask me out to lunch? You're an arse, Ronald Weasley, and I want nothing to do with you. Get out!" She growled the last two words, her face hot but her eyes blessedly dry.

Ron looked bewildered, but didn't need telling twice. He hurried from her office and she slammed the door behind him. Breathing heavily, she bent to continue cleaning her office floor.


	11. Stone Walls

Although it had been refurbished after the war, Azkaban could not be described as anything other than hellish. The tall column of stone brick sat on a jagged rock in the middle of treacherous ocean, the sea often lapping up so much of the island it was difficult for guards to access it. The Dementors had not graced the halls since 1998, but the depressive air still hung about, invisible and suffocating.

Hermione had arrived in the cramped Warden's office via Portkey. It was a wooden room, panelled with stained oak. A rickety desk was squashed to one side in front of the only window. The grey sky outside allowed minimal sunlight to peep through, but the room was lit enough for Hermione to navigate her way to the door.

Outside, she found herself in a narrow tunnel which smelt like mould and stale urine. She wrinkled her nose and pulled her cloak tighter around her; the tunnel was also uninsulated. Slowly, she moved straight ahead until she found a door which would lead to the actual prison. A dim stairway led to the upper levels, where the prisoners were kept.

When she reached the landing, she checked the small piece of parchment she had received from Harry the night before. To find Narcissa Malfoy, she needed level eleven.

Magic was severely limited on the island, so Hermione had to walk up eleven flights of stairs before she reached the required corridor. She passed several Aurors on her way up, some arriving to take over from the night guards, and others leaving to get some much needed sleep. Harry had told her that there was a rotating roster to ensure no Auror had to spend too much time at the prison; even without the Dementors, the place was reported to be terrible for one's mental health.

She was standing in a long corridor, lined on either side with iron grills. Muffled noises rang through the heavy air; moaning, nonsensical rambling, and a low pitched whine that seemed to go on for too long to be completely human. A shiver ran up Hermione's spine as she took her first step into the darkness; it echoed off the musty walls and the moaning, rambling, and whining intensified.

Each cell had three solid walls of grey stone, no windows. The wall that faced the corridor was made from iron bars, affording the prisoners no privacy or warmth. The smell of primitive bathroom practices filled Hermione's nostrils and made her eyes water. She was breathing through her mouth in shallow bursts by the time she reached the end of the long hallway.

Hermione stopped in front of the last cell to the left. Squinting, she moved towards the bars and wrapped one hand around the cool metal. She pushed her face between the bars and looked around. A small moan was all that alerted her to the fact that this cell was in fact inhabited.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Hermione could see there was a thin rectangle of fabric in the far left corner; apparently, that's where the inhabitant of this cell slept. Opposite this, on the right hand side, was a small wash basin and toilet without a lid. Closer to the bars was a scattered mess of straw, giving Hermione the impression that she was in a poorly kept zoo rather than a prison for witches and wizards.

"Mrs Malfoy?" She whispered, her voice bouncing off the walls and down the entire corridor. Several other prisoners appeared to be shuffling in their small confines, if the rustling of straw and starchy fabric against brick was any indication.

Hermione licked her lips; they were beginning to tremble from the cold.

"Hello?"

"Dra-co?" The voice was low and hoarse, as if it hadn't been used in a very long time.

"N-no," Hermione's eyes flittered over the space, still unable to pinpoint where her charge was. "My name is Hermione Granger."

Though she was speaking softly, the words rang around the space as if she had shouted them. The noise that rose from neighbouring cells in response sounded like the inmates were rasping in tongues.

There was a noise like a rat running through a sewer, and then a hand latched around Hermione's ankle. She managed to suppress the squeal of fright that rose in her throat; instead, she gasped and reflexively stepped back.

At her feet, the tiny frame of a once beautiful woman half sat, half lay, on the cold concrete beneath them. Her once thick blonde hair had been butchered; Hermione couldn't describe the almost buzz cut as anything else; someone had hacked at the tresses until they'd drawn blood from sheer force. Dried patches of scarlet matter still clung to the roots.

Slowly, Hermione sank to the floor until she was crouching in front of the pathetic form of Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mrs Malfoy?" She asked again.

"Did you s-say…" the woman stopped to take a deep, rattling breath, "H-Hermione Gr-Granger?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Hermione nodded as she looked into the woman's face.

Her eyes were bloodshot and weepy. Her cheekbones stuck out prominently in her face, pale skin taut and translucent; she could have been made from wax. There was a nasty gash above her right eyebrow which was turning a foul shade of green. Hermione swallowed thickly as she tried and failed to count all of the cuts and bruises, starting from Narcissa's forehead, and disappearing down the neck of her flimsy prison robes.

"Merlin," Hermione whispered into the dark. Her breath appeared in front of her as a white mist; was it getting colder in here?

"Dr-Draco?"

"He's fine," Hermione snapped her attention back to Mrs Malfoy. "He was released in March."

The glassy eyes looked back, confused.

Of course, Hermione thought, like that would mean anything to a woman who probably couldn't tell you how long she'd been behind bars.

"Draco was released on the first of March," she explained. "Today is the fifteenth of April. He's been under house arrest for the past six weeks."

"Thank Merlin."

"Mrs Malfoy, I don't have a lot of time," Hermione glanced up towards the end of the corridor she had come from. She had to make sure she was back at the portkey before 8:55am; after risking so much to get here, it wouldn't do to be caught arriving late to work.

"I need to ask you some questions; questions about the Battle of Hogwarts. Do you remember the battle?"

Her question was met with silence. Hermione peered into the darkness, her eyes slowly adjusting. Narcissa seemed to have slumped over once more, and lay motionless at Hermione's feet.

"Mrs Malfoy," Hermione said. "This is very important; please, if you can, I need you to answer the question."

She tried to keep her tone neutral, but her words left her mouth through her teeth in a desperate whisper. Her hand clung to the cold iron bar for support and her heart was beating so loudly she wondered if that was the noise the other prisoners continued to react to.

"Of course I remember," Narcissa rasped, though she made no effort to move. Instead, she kept her face pressed against the floor littered sparsely with stale straw.

"Good," Hermione encouraged. "What do you remember?"

"I remember…" Narcissa paused for a long moment, until Hermione believed she has fallen asleep.

Before she could call Mrs Malfoy's name again, Narcissa continued.

"I remember Harry Potter coming to die," she said monotonously. "I remember the Dark Lord and Potter fighting; it was like a fireworks show. It wasn't a particularly long battle…"

The last sentence was said in a dreamy sort of voice, one that Luna Lovegood might use while speaking about Nargles.

"And then what happened?" Hermione prompted.

"He died," Narcissa whispered, her breath leaving her in a long, low rattle. "Well," she corrected, "at least, the Dark Lord thought he had."

Her voice was becoming stronger now, but she still had not moved from her position on the floor.

"The Dark Lord…asked me to check on him – Potter."

She was interrupted by a coughing fit, the sound of spittle and mucous hitting the concrete floor echoed around them and Hermione felt her stomach roll.

"He – " Narcissa gasped, "he was alive," she said hoarsely. "I knew it as soon as I looked at him…"

She once again paused as if she'd completely forgotten that Hermione was there, and that she had been in the middle of a story.

And once again, before Hermione could enquire as to whether or not Narcissa was still lucid, the battered woman continued as if she had never stopped.

"I asked him if Draco was alive…I needed to know if my boy – " Her breath hitched and dry sobs tore from her throat.

"Mrs Malfoy, with all due respect," Hermione whispered as low as she could. "I know this part of the story; Harry told me how you saved him, and that it was your lie that made our victory possible."

Narcissa continued to wheeze, her sobbing a culmination of crying noises and those akin to an asthma attack.

"What I need to know is what happened during that Final Battle; I'm not here to judge. If you fired a curse, I need to know. It's the only way I'll be able to help you…" Hermione paused and then added, "…and Draco."

Narcissa stopped crying at once. She raised her head and scrambled to force herself into a sitting position.

She leant heavily on her left wrist, her arm shaking as she half sat and half lay at an odd angle; it was all her strength would allow.

"I didn't fire anything at anybody," she sniffed, the sound echoing around the space and causing a few inmates to giggle insanely. "I didn't have a wand; nor did Lucius."

"You didn't have a wand?"

Narcissa didn't answer straight away, seemingly still entrenched in the memories of 1998.

"No," she whispered. "Lucius' had been destroyed, and I had given mine to Draco."

"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy." Hermione fought to control the swell of triumphant as it bubbled in her chest. "I have to go now, but I hope it won't be too long until we meet again."

Hermione stood to leave, but two small, scabbed hands reached through the bars surprisingly fast. They closed around the fabric of Hermione's blouse and held her in place as Narcissa Malfoy's face appeared between two metal bars.

Her eyes were wide and her chest heaved with obvious exertion, but her voice was controlled and the strongest she had sounded all morning.

"Miss Granger," she hissed. "Look after my boy. And tell him – " she swallowed thickly. "Don't tell him what I – what I've become…" she choked on the last word and then fell away, slumping with a thud back to the unforgiving concrete floor.

Hermione, slightly shaken, continued her ascent until she stood in front of the bars.

"I promise I'll protect your modesty, Mrs Malfoy." She whispered.

The sounds of the other prisoners, which she had allowed to fade into white noise during her desperation to get the information from Narcissa, now peppered the air with animalistic grunts and moans.

"Goodbye," she spared the blonde woman one last glance as the pitiful creature slithered back to the scrap of cloth in the far corner. Hermione then turned on her heel and hastening for the exit.

She took the descent quickly, the sounds of her footfalls cascading around her in clanging tones which mixed with the calls of underfed and mentally unhinged criminals.

The portkey was glowing as she arrived back in the dingy office, the Warden still nowhere to be seen.

She lunged for it in one movement, felt the hook behind her navel and was instantly tugged forward into a swirly nothingness, her mind reeling in much the same way after her visit with Narcissa Malfoy.

The small brick of plastic had arrived not by owl, but by an ordinary looking young man in a grey uniform. It was nestled inside a white box, taped shut with Muggle tape rather than magic, and at first Draco had assumed it was Blaise's idea of a joke.

When the brick had started shrieking like a metallic banshee, the blond confirmed that Blaise was playing a prank on him.

But then, in an attempt to silence the annoying contraption, Draco had pulled it from the box and flipped it open.

"Hello?" A familiar voice sounded from the device. "Draco? Are you there?"

It was at this point Draco dropped the thing with fright, effectively silencing it and sending chunks of plastic across the foyer floor.

Luckily, it was not difficult to put the cover back on. As soon as it was together, it began making that awful racket again. Draco copied his movements from before, and once again Blaise's voice, though more muffled than usual, could be heard from the foreign object.

"Hello?" Draco experimented, holding the thing up to his ear.

"Aha!" Blaise exulted. "Excellent, you got my gift."

"Yes," Draco said tentatively. "But what is it?"

"It's a mobile phone."

Draco could practically hear Blaise rolling his eyes.

"Oh."

"I figured, seeing as I won't be able to Floo regularly from Italy, I'd send you a little something so that we can keep in touch. It's a Muggle invention, but really quite ingenious."

"Hmm," Draco pulled the mobile phone away from his ear to look at it, but then Blaise was speaking again and he hastened to press it back against his ear.

"So how are things with Granger? Have you asked her about Narcissa yet?" His tone was jovial, with just a hint of accusation.

Draco cleared his throat. "Um…"

"Draco!" Blaise shouted and Draco winced, once again holding the phone away from him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don't know," the blond moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Every time I see her I just feel so angry; I just want to scream at her, Blaise and I don't even know why…"

Blaise snorted and Draco's eyes flew open. He began to pace around the foyer, the phone pressed hard to the side of his head.

"And you," he accused, "with your warning and all that bullshit! It's no wonder I can't seem to get my head straight when Granger enters the bloody room!"

Blaise chuckled and then sighed. "Draco, I did nothing but point out what was already going on in that painful head of yours."

"You – utterly – can't believe – " Draco spluttered.

"Look," Blaise said, his tone now firm, "you need to snap out of whatever funk you're in with Granger. She's your only way out of house arrest, and she's the only one who can help with Narcissa. Tell your dick to sit down and shut up, and talk to her like a normal human being."

"How do I do that?" The words were out of Draco's mouth before he could stop them, and he was suddenly very grateful for the mobile phone as it did not allow Blaise to see how red his cheeks had turned.

"Merlin above," Blaise tutted. "Like any other good looking girl who happens to be your only damn lifeline."

"Oh well thank you so much," Draco deadpanned. "What a load of help you are."

"Only to you, sugar lips," Blaise teased. "But seriously, just be polite. Ask her nicely, with a 'please?' at the end. Maybe make some tea – oh, I know!" Draco heard a muffled thud; Blaise had hit something solid as realisation dawned. "Take her to the library – and maybe invite her around outside of Ministry hours."

"That seems counter-intuitive Blaise, given your initial warning." Draco drawled.

Blaise made a noise of assent through his nose, but did not verbally agree.

"I have to get back to work now," there was a noise like shuffling papers and Draco winced as it rattled around inside his eardrum. "Next time we talk, I want to hear about how Granger's kicking arse with your mother's case, and that you're still a virgin. Capisce?"

"Well I can't promise the latter," Draco smirked, "but I promise Granger will be."

Blaise chortled at his joke.

"Ciao."

The phone beeped three times in quick succession, and Draco pulled it away from his ear to check the screen; Blaise had disconnected.

The blond rolled his eyes.

Prat, he thought to himself, there'll be no need to free my mother if he keeps this up; he's pretty much taken up the post himself.

He pushed that thought aside as soon as it aired; he'd never stop trying to free his mother, even if it was the last thing he did. Now all he needed to do was get Hermione Granger on side.

For real, this time, he thought as memories of wasted opportunities danced tauntingly in his mind.

He took the stairs two at a time, the phone still clutched in his hand. As he made his way to his office, he began constructing the letter in his head.

Dear Granger,

…

No, 'dear' was too intimate, it might give her the wrong idea. He'd always hated 'to' though – what an unnecessary waste of ink and parchment.

Just Granger, then?

Much better.

Granger,

I request you presence at the Manor…

It might once been the way he would invite a girl over, but 'requesting her presence' could be seen as a little forceful and a lot outdated.

Having finally made it to his study, he plopped down into his desk chair and pulled a piece of parchment towards him with a flourish. Draco licked his lips as he rustled in his top desk draw and retrieved an elegant eagle quill and emerald green ink.

By the time he had perfected the letter, his office looked as though a cyclone had ripped through it; crumbled up pieces of parchment littered his desk and the floor around it; scraps of it were spread like confetti amongst the larger balls, evidence of his frustration and subsequent tearing of several drafts into tiny pieces; ink was smeared across a stack of parchment to his left, still soaking through the pile and seeping slowly across his desk.

And Draco?

Well, the odd splotch of green ink could be seen here and there; on his hands, his cheek, and across the pocket of his button down shirt. But the determined smile now stretched across his face suggested that maybe an afternoon spent trying to pen the perfect invitation had not been a complete disaster after all.

On Thursday, Hermione once again visited Malfoy at the Manor. The encounter left her feeling confused and frustrated, on the verge of pulling her hair out and fantasising about strangling the blond wizard.

While she was not expecting a warm welcome from Draco, she had definitely not expected the awkward man who greeted her at the door and tripped over his words every time he opened his mouth.

The moods of Malfoy are giving me whiplash, she thought mirthlessly as she kicked her shoes off and headed to her bedroom; first she would dress down, and then she would set herself up on the couch with a tub of ice cream and reruns of old Muggle television shows.

Later that evening, several episodes in to a show she was embarrassed to voice the name of, Hermione was visited by a regal looking owl. She jumped as the bird tapped its beak against the window, frightening the brunette witch out of her chair.

"What in the world…?" she edged closer towards the window as the owl tapped smartly on the glass again and ruffled its feathers in an important sort of way.

Pulling her wand from where she had threaded it through the messy bun on top of her head, she waved it to open the window.

The owl swooped in and landed on the kitchen bench. It stuck out its leg and shook it once, as if suggesting it was in something of a hurry.

Hermione rolled her eyes and made her way towards it. She reached for the bird's leg and took the scroll. With one last wary glance at the owl, she read:

Granger,

I have a matter of the utmost importance I wish to discuss with you. It is not like me to ask for help, but I feel that I can trust you. In fact, you may be the only person I can confide in. Please meet me at the Manor this Saturday at 10am.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

Hermione closed the scroll by letting go of the bottom and allowing it to spring back into a position.

I guess that explains Malfoy's odd behaviour today…she bit her lip and glanced back up at the owl.

"He wants a response, huh?" She queried.

The owl cocked its head to the side again.

"Figures," she muttered.

Grabbing a simple Muggle pen from the kitchen draw, Hermione scrawled on the back of the parchment and re-tied it to the owl's leg.

The bird spread its wings and soared back through the window and into the night as soon as the letter was secure.

Hermione watched it go, one hand on her hip.

Great, she thought to herself, what fresh hell has he prepared for me this time?


	12. Revelations

On Good Friday, Hermione declined the invitation to spend the day with the Weasleys, choosing to be alone instead. She told Molly, who had non- too-subtly tried to change her mind, that she wanted to enjoy some time alone after everything that had happened at work and with Ron.

She wasn't lying exactly, but if she was being completely honest, the real reason she spent the day alone was to mentally prepare for the following morning. She had not received anything from Malfoy that might give her a clue as to what the meeting was about. If there was something he wished to discuss about his case, he could have asked her on Thursday.

And if it wasn't anything to do with his case, Hermione could not think of a reason he would request to see her on a weekend. Briefly, she considered the fact that visiting Malfoy outside of paid hours, and not under the direction of the Ministry, could be construed as inappropriate, but that thought was chased by the memory of the dirt she had on Vivienne; if the blonde witch found out about the meeting she couldn't hold it over Hermione's head.

Saturday dawned, clear and sunny and, though she was the least superstitious person she knew, Hermione hoped the good weather was a positive omen.

She dressed casually in a worn pair of jeans, a pink t-shirt, and a knitted cardigan. She slid her feet into simple ballet flats and ran a brush through her hair before she left her apartment and made her way to the apparition point.

She landed just outside of the Malfoy grounds shortly before 10am, and walked quickly towards the Manor.

Miksy was once again on the stairs to greet her, and the little elf bowed low as Hermione approached.

"Good morning, Miss Hermione," she squeaked.

Hermione smiled. "Hello, Miksy."

The warmth in her voice was genuine, but a feeling of foreboding had settled in Hermione's belly and she wondered what she had been thinking, agreeing to such a meeting.

Curiosity and logic had always been two of Hermione's greatest personality traits, but they were often the cause of her downfall too. Had she allowed curiosity to win out this time? And would accepting such a mysterious invitation from Malfoy lead her to regret making this decision?

Miksy's high pitched voice interrupted her musings. "Mister Draco is this way, Miss!"

The elf's small hand slipped into Hermione's and Miksy tugged with surprising strength. Hermione allowed herself to be dragged along through the large front doors and into the foyer. The Manor was well lit now, candles and oil burners flickering at intervals around the space.

"This way," Miksy sing-songed, dropping Hermione's hand and continuing further into the entry way.

Hermione followed, one hand clutching the bag she had slung across her body; it contained her wand.

Miksy led her through the foyer, down the hall, and past the sitting room. Hermione made to step in to the familiar space, but Miksy called over her shoulder.

"Not in there today, Miss! Master Draco says sitting room not fit for Miss Hermione today, Miss. He says Miss Hermione likes books!"

Hermione frowned; what was that supposed to mean?

They threaded their way through the Manor, until Hermione felt dizzy and disoriented; she wouldn't know how to get back to the front door if her life depended on it. That thought scared her more than she would ever admit to the likes of Draco Malfoy, but it took all of her Gryffindor courage to continue behind Miksy.

Finally, they reached the end of yet another hallway, and stopped in front of a pair of glass doors. Hermione could see a short set of steps leading away from the door into the room beyond.

"Through here, Miss!" Miksy clicked her fingers and the doors swung open. Miksy marched forwards, Hermione hot on her heels.

The room was huge and slightly curved. Bookshelves lined nearly every available wall and criss-crossed throughout the centre of the space. Hermione gazed in awe; this was the Malfoy library.

"This way, Miss!" Miksy had taken Hermione's hand again and was pulling her along towards the back of the room, where a table had been set up for tea.

Hermione's eyes widened as she took in the spread; a huge tea pot and matching floral-patterned tea cups were laid for two, and mounds of pastries; scones, eclairs, and croissants among other delicacies were stacked on three-tiered serving plates.

"What the…?"

"Good morning," a familiar voice accompanied a set of approaching footsteps.

Hermione turned and came face to face with Malfoy. He was dressed casually in a grey polo shirt and light blue jeans.

"Good morning," she responded. It was more of a reflex than a greeting, her voice mechanical.

"Would you like some tea?" Malfoy gestured towards the table.

"Er," Hermione licked her lips and tried to lower her eyebrows. Her heart pounded in her chest as she glanced back towards the pile of pastries. "Yes?"

She figured it was the polite thing to do; she had accepted his invitation, after all. Malfoy nodded once and strode towards the table. He stopped at the chair closest to Hermione and looked at her expectantly.

Did he want her to sit in it? Why was he standing like that?

Slowly, and without her permission, Hermione's legs began to shuffle her towards the table. She sat in the chair Malfoy was standing behind, the action feeling like it took minutes when in reality, it was mere seconds. Hermione stifled a gasp as Malfoy pushed the chair in for her.

It wasn't often Hermione found herself lost for words, but in that moment her mouth felt like sandpaper and her tongue like a lead weight.

"So," Malfoy had settled himself in the chair opposite her. "How do you take your tea, Granger?"

The sound of her last name on his lips seemed to have a calming effect, even if only slightly. It signified stability and normalcy in that, while he was acting completely out of character, this was still business.

"White, no sugar." Hermione replied. She was disappointed to hear her voice still sounded robotic and slightly breathy. She cleared her throat. "Please," she added.

Malfoy busied himself with the tea pot and tea cups, and Hermione took the time to look around. She had heard that the Malfoy library was the largest personal collection in Britain; it wasn't hard to believe that rumour as she took in the floor-to-ceiling oak shelves, every one of them full of tomes.

"Thank you," Hermione inclined her head as Malfoy set the cup in front of her before beginning to make his own tea.

"You're welcome." He kept his head down, concentrating on his pouring. "What do you think?"

At first Hermione thought he meant the tea, and had opened her mouth to answer that she was yet to take a sip, but then she realised he was referring to the library.

"It's amazing," she said honestly. Though the situation was undoubtedly awkward, remembering that it was happening inside the most magnificent library she'd ever seen, helped Hermione relax. "Is it true that you have all the Hogwarts, A History editions?"

The question had left her mouth before she could stop it, her voice no longer robotic, but filled with childish excitement instead. Hermione felt warmth flood the tops of her cheeks, but her gaze remained fixed on the blond in front of her.

Malfoy had finished pouring his tea and was watching her shrewdly. He smirked at the question, but answered in a polite tone.

"Yes, it is."

Hermione couldn't help the flare of excitement as it sparked in her stomach. She clamped down on her tongue to keep herself from squealing like a fan girl, and wrapped a hand around her tea cup so as not to jump up and demand to be shown the books immediately.

"I suppose you're wondering why I invited you here?"

"I'm assuming the reason isn't because you wanted to discuss Hogwarts, A History?"

He smirked again, though his eyes were still neutral. "No," he shook his head and settled his tea cup back on its saucer. Years of etiquette training kept the china from clinking as he placed it on the table. "I actually have to ask you something."

"Sounds terrifying," Hermione arched an eyebrow.

"I need your help," he said quickly.

Hermione dropped her teasing tone. "With what?"

"My mother," Malfoy averted his eyes, his gaze coming to rest on his fingers which lay twisted in his lap. "I want to know if you would take on her case like you did mine, and get her out of Azkaban?"

Hermione's jaw dropped and her mouth felt like it was filled with owl feathers. While she insisted that her work with Narcissa Malfoy remain a secret, especially from Malfoy, she had never really considered the possibility that he would outright ask for her help; help for something she had been doing for the last five years.

Hermione cleared her throat and forced herself to look into Malfoy's face as she answered him.

"I can't take on her case," she said slowly. Malfoy's head snapped up, his eyes narrowed and his mouth settled into an impossibly thin line.

"I see," his voice was cold.

"No, I don't think you do," Hermione rushed on, holding a hand up. "Please, let me explain."

"I don't need you to explain," he whispered. Malfoy stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the hard floor like nails on a chalkboard. Hermione winced at the sound.

"Just listen!" Hermione mirrored his movements, though slower as to not create the same horrendous noise with her own chair. She stood across from him now, the table between them.

"To what?" He hissed, his arms flung wide. "So you can explain to me how this is pay back for all the shit I put you through in Hogwarts?" His voice was rising now, building towards a great crescendo. "So you can avenge your own parents? Is that it? You refuse to help my mother because you don't believe it's fair that I still have one while yours – !"

"How dare you!"

Without thinking, Hermione reached into her handbag and pulled out her wand, pointing it at Malfoy. He eyed it warily, as a sneer tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"What are you going to do with that, Granger?" His tone was scathing as he forced his eyes back to hers. "Hex me?"

Her breath was coming in quick bursts and she was shaking, though the arm held aloft was perfectly still. "So help me, Merlin, I will hex you until you can't see straight if you don't sit down this instant and let me explain!"

His first instinct was to argue; to continue to push until she finally snapped. Something about her fierceness had always fascinated him, he could admit it now. Thankfully, the sensible part of his brain which wasn't concerned with the attractive qualities of Hermione Granger kicked in, and he did as she bade.

Hermione watched as Malfoy sank back into his chair; his pallid cheeks flushed an unusual crimson. His eyes were trained on hers and he looked as if he had locked his jaw to keep himself from speaking.

Smartest thing he's ever done, Hermione thought savagely.

"Good." She panted, her wand still pointing directly at his chest. "What I was trying to say," she said, forcing her voice to remain calm, "was that the reason I cannot take on your mother's case, is because I'm already working on it."

"You're already…"

"Correct. In fact, I visited Narcissa just last week."

"Oh."

For a long time, neither of them spoke. They regarded each other, both of their chests still rising and falling more rapidly than normal as the spike in energy slowly dissipated from the room.

"Would you put that thing away now, please?" Malfoy gestured towards Hermione's wand with a quick shift of his eyes before resting his gaze back on her face. The colour in his cheeks was starting to fade, and his tone was much softer.

Hermione slowly lowered her arm, but kept a tight grip on her wand. There was another pregnant pause in which Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other; she dropped her gaze, unable to stand the emotional grey whirlpools any longer.

"My mother…" Malfoy started, his voice cracking slightly.

Hermione sighed. "I can't tell you much." She moved towards him and dropped into the seat she had earlier vacated. "There's such a thing as client-lawyer confidentiality."

Malfoy made a sound low in his throat; Hermione suspected it was a swallowed growl. "So what can you tell me?"

"I can tell you that I'm doing all I can to help her, Malfoy." Hermione lifted her gaze and forced herself to look into his face. She expected to see a challenge in his eyes; something like a warning that should she fail at her task, he would make her pay. As warm brown met cool grey, Hermione was shocked to see that the expected fire was unlit; his irises instead filled with what she interpreted as fear and a shot of determination.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said through gritted teeth. As much as she wanted to laugh at him for the pained look on his face at having uttered the phrase, Hermione knew he meant it. Instead, she bit back the triumphant smirk and nodded.

"You're welcome."

"Is she - ?" Malfoy sighed and hung his head. "Is she okay?" His voice had dropped to a whisper and Hermione had to lean forward slightly to hear him properly.

"She's…" Hermione trailed off and licked her lips. She didn't really want to lie to Malfoy; he had been in Azkaban for enough time to know what state his mother was in, after all. However, she had promised Narcissa that she wouldn't let Malfoy know the severity of her condition. Hermione sighed. "She's as well as can be expected."

Malfoy echoed her sigh and nodded. He ran a hand through his hair, the blond tresses falling into purposeful disarray with the movement.

"And how long do you think it will take?" His voice was stronger now, but his eyes were liquid silver, betraying his inner turmoil.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted softly, as if lowering the volume of her voice would somehow lessen the sting of her inadequate answer. Malfoy's eyes hardened slightly and Hermione rushed on, her tone exasperated. "Draco, I've been working on your mother's case for as long as I've been working on yours. Just know that I am trying as hard as I can; you have no idea the bureaucracy I have had to fight through…"

She trailed off as his expression changed from that of a disgruntled client to the soft surprise of a child on Christmas morning.

"Are you okay?" Hermione frowned.

"You called me Draco," he muttered, his gaze flicking up to meet Hermione's and then dropping to his lap.

"Oh," Hermione felt her neck prickle and willed the blush to stop before it reached her cheeks. "Well, I suppose it is your name."

Malfoy did not look up, but she heard him swallow thickly.

"Anyway, as I was saying," she pressed on, forcing her mind back on to the task and away from the fragile possibility that this business deal could be built on more than her overwhelming sense of righteousness. "I think I'm close to getting a trial before the Wizengamot. I just need some more evidence to prove that Narcissa was innocent."

"She was innocent," Malfoy's voice was stronger now. "She is innocent."

"I know that," Hermione adopted her business-like tone again. "It's not as easy to convince the Wizengamot."

"What's your next move, then?"

Hermione pursed her lips as she contemplated how best to answer that question. If she was being honest with herself, she didn't quite know. She had the wand information; the fact that Narcissa had been unarmed during the Final Battle had to count for something. Unfortunately, knowing the Wizengamot as well as she did, Hermione knew it would not be enough to save Narcissa. She had to go back and see if she could get more information; she might even need to visit…

"Granger," Malfoy's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "What happens once I'm no longer under house arrest?" He spoke quickly, as if trying to connect several thoughts at once. His brow was furrowed as he gazed in her direction without really seeing her.

"Um," Hermione cleared her throat, forcing her brain to change gears. "You're free to do as you please?" She ended the last syllable on a question, not sure if that's what Malfoy was asking.

"Could I get a job?"

"I don't see why not…" she replied slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"Is it crazy of me to think I could join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? I'd like the opportunity to work on my mother's case."

Hermione's eyes widened and she blinked slowly. "Work on your mother's case," she echoed.

"Yes," he nodded, his eyes now fixed firmly on hers. "With you."

"I don't know…" she trailed off, the idea swirling around inside her brain like a Ferris wheel that was moving too quickly. "The Ministry would probably say it's a conflict of interest."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "So I could join the department as an intern; I don't need the money. Or I could be your assistant."

Hermione felt the world tilt on its axis, and she only just smothered a giggle. She never thought there would come a day when Draco Malfoy would admit his willingness to work for her out loud.

"Let's just take it one step at a time," she said finally. Feeling that things had reached a point of absurdity she could no longer stand, Hermione stood and placed her wand back in her handbag before slinging it over her shoulder. "Focus on your case meetings and keeping out of trouble. I'll handle Narcissa's case and keep you informed."

Malfoy didn't move, his gaze still fixed on a shelf behind Hermione. The look on his face was unreadable at best.

"What if you let me help you off the record?"

"What?"

He glanced up at her and licked his lips. "What if you meet me outside of Ministry hours and let me help you with Mother's case? We can research here, in the library." He gestured around him. "I know I could be useful, Granger. I know my mother better than you do, and I was there while she watched my Father…" his voice faltered.

Hermione opened her mouth to insist that it was a bad idea; if Vivienne caught wind of her helping Malfoy outside of her Ministry hours, she could be sacked, and Malfoy could be sent back to Azkaban. A once off like today was fine, but an ongoing arrangement? She would be asking for trouble.

"Please, Granger?" He stood slowly and took a step towards her. "I'm going crazy here; I need mental stimulation. Please let me help."

"Okay," Hermione finally sighed. "Fine. But on one condition." She held up one finger and narrowed her eyes. Malfoy clamped his mouth shut and nodded vigorously.

"Anything," he agreed.

"You do not mention it to anyone."

"Deal."

"I mean it, Draco," Hermione growled. "Not Zabini, not your parents, and definitely not Parkinson."

"I said deal," he rolled his eyes. "And you called me Draco again." He couldn't help but smirk.

Hermione fought the urge to stamp her foot; she really needed to be more careful lest he start thinking she actually liked him or something.

"Thank you for the tea, Malfoy," she said pointedly. His smirk widened.

"Any time, Granger."

She nodded in lieu of saying goodbye, and turned on her heel. She had made it to the door before realising she had no idea how to get back to the front door. Hermione gritted her teeth as she stopped in the doorway and turned to look over her shoulder at Malfoy.

He was still standing by the table, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He was regarding her with shrewd interest, though his telling smirk gave away his mirth.

"Miksy!" He called, his eyes still boring into Hermione's. The little elf appeared at his side, and he asked her to show Hermione the way to the front door.

Unwilling to show any more gratitude than was absolutely necessary, Hermione offered Malfoy a nod and then followed Miksy out of the library. The soft, low chuckle echoed in her mind as she descended the front steps and headed for the apparition point.

As she turned on the spot, Hermione was not thinking of her own apartment. Somewhere between the albino peacocks and the front gate, she had had an idea, and there was only one person who could help her execute it. Unfortunately, he was also the one person who would be vehemently against it.

Hermione landed on the threshold of a familiar front door and knocked sharply. She tugged a hand through her wild curls, a subconscious tic she had formed after learning to apparate; the mode of travel was not conducive to tamed locks.

After a few agonisingly long seconds, the door swung inwards. Hermione snapped her gaze up to meet the surprised expression of the occupier.

She stepped over the threshold and pushed her way inside. The door clicked shut as she turned to meet questioning eyes. Their lips pursed in a way that suggested they wouldn't like what was about to come out of her mouth.

"Harry," she said. "I need another favour."


	13. The Final Straw

It took longer than expected for Harry to organise another trip to Azkaban.

Dewsong was suspicious, having been asked for the same favour twice within as many weeks by the Boy Who Lived. He had agreed to think about it when Harry had approached him, and then umm'ed and ahh'ed for weeks before begrudgingly authorising the portkey.

Summer was well and truly over by the time Hermione visited Narcissa again. The corridors of the prison held no warmth and the howling wind as it pushed its way into the cracks and crevices almost drowned out the sound of the inmates.

Almost.

Narcissa Malfoy sat huddled against the bars of her cell as Hermione approached. She was mewling in a way that reminded Hermione of a kitten, the sound imprinting itself on Hermione's brain and tugging at her heart.

"Good morning Mrs Malfoy," Hermione greeted. She crouched down in front of the shivering blonde woman. "How are you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, and Narcissa stopped squeaking as Hermione spoke.

"Miss Granger," she rasped, her breathing laboured. Hermione detected a wheeze and felt her heart rate increase. "Is it Draco?"

"No," Hermione shook her head and wrapped one hand around a metal bar. Narcissa curled her own much bonier hand underneath Hermione's and pulled herself up into a sitting position. "Draco is fine. I'm here to talk to you again. We're not having a lot of luck with the Wizengamot."

Hermione's mouth twisted around the word as if it were a particularly ugly curse. She had spent the past few months researching in the Malfoy library, the Ministry archives, and even the Hogwarts library, looking for anything that might help them free Narcissa. No legal document she had scanned so far had helped.

Draco had been helpful, cataloguing books that might help, and those that were definitely not what they were looking for. They had struck up something of a tenuous friendship. Well, that had been until Hermione had returned from Hogwarts empty handed and Draco had quipped that the world must be ending; Hermione Granger unable to find answers in Hogwarts library? Unheard of!

She knew he had been kidding…well, sort of. It was his way of dealing with the disappointment, and trying to lift hers. Hermione had been cold towards him ever since, and even though the guilt had begun gnawing at her insides, she couldn't help feeling that a little bit of emotional distance between herself and the handsome blond was probably a good thing; at least for now.

"Listen, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione pressed her face between the bars so she could whisper directly into Narcissa's ear. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of rot, dirt, and old blood. "What you told me last time, about not having a wand; it's not enough to give us grounds for an appeal."

Narcissa was silent, but she leaned in to Hermione as if trying to hear her better.

"I need more information, more evidence. I have my assistant focusing solely on your case at the moment, but we've been unable to find any legislation to help us; not in the archives, or Hogwarts, or the Manor."

Narcissa jerked her head away from Hermione as if she had been burned.

"The Manor?" She croaked. Hermione nodded. Narcissa licked her lips, but for all the moisture it gave them, her tongue might as well have been sandpaper. "You won't find anything there."

Hermione frowned. "Why not?"

"Because the Malfoys don't keep their records in their home." For a moment, Hermione recognised the Narcissa she had briefly encountered at the Quidditch World Cup before she had started her fourth year at Hogwarts; proud, and condescending.

"Where do they keep them?"

Narcissa sighed, or at least Hermione thought she did. Her shoulders lifted and she shivered violently, her body vibrating so hard the bars rattled as she lent on them.

"They used to keep them at the Ministry," Narcissa answered softly, almost whimsically. "When Lucius was in charge, that's where he put them."

"And what do these records contain?" Hermione was barely making sound, unwilling to be overheard.

"Everything," Narcissa breathed, and then her hand went slack on the bars. It dropped to her side with a soft thud, and the mewling began again.

Hermione rose to her feet and dusted off the front of her pencil skirt.

"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy." She spoke at a normal volume now. "I hope I will be seeing you again soon."

Narcissa did not reply, but continued to whine as Hermione turned on her heel and headed back towards the Warden's office and her awaiting portkey.

At Malfoy Manor, Draco was waiting for Hermione. He hadn't officially called her that out loud, despite the fact she had taken to using his first name on a regular basis. He called her "Granger" to her face, but she had been "Hermione" in his head for quite a while now.

As the familiar sensation of the wards being crossed ran up his spine, Draco smiled and headed for the library door, a fat tome balanced in his palms.

"You'll want to see this," he called as footsteps echoed down the hall. "I think I've found something." He paused, waiting for Hermione to come into view.

He frowned as the footsteps grew louder, the sound of heels clicking against the polished marble ringing in his ears.

Granger doesn't wear heels.

The thought had barely formed when Pansy Parkinson came into view.

"Hello, Draco," she purred. Draco felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck – and not in a good way. He tried to keep his tone neutral as he fought the grimace threatening to cross his features.

"Pansy," he greeted her. The dark haired witch stopped in front of him and offered her cheek. Draco hesitated before bending down to place a chaste kiss on her skin. It was icy cold from the fresh air, and tasted like powdery makeup. Draco licked his lips as he pulled back, trying to get the chalky feeling off of them.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was in the neighbourhood," Pansy grinned seductively. "What are you doing in the library?" She peered around his shoulder, a confused frown replacing her smile.

"I'm researching," Draco said dismissively. He tugged the ribbon into place and snapped the book shut; he had to get rid of Pansy before he could continue. "Do you need something?"

"No," Pansy shook her head and pushed her way past him in to the library. "I just wanted to see you."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and stood for a moment, praying to any deity who might be listening to please get Pansy out of his house. He then turned on his heel and marched into the library.

Pansy had set herself up on one of the love seats, her feet curled up on the lounge. She stared pointedly at the space next to her, and then back up at Draco.

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Pansy, now really isn't a good time."

As he spoke, the wards shimmied again.

Shit.

"I really need to get this research done; maybe you could come back another time?"

And by another time I mean never…or at least not until you're over this pathetic crush.

Pansy pouted and sat up properly. "I was hoping to go over colour palettes."

"Colour palettes?"

"For the wedding, Draco." She stood and walked over to him, placing her hands on his chest.

"Wedding?" Draco's head spun.

"Our wedding, silly!" She giggled as her hands fisted in his shirt and tugged him towards her.

"Pansy," Draco wrapped his hands around her wrists and pulled them from his shirt, holding them between their bodies. "We're not getting married."

Draco sighed. Pansy had concocted the idea of their engagement several weeks ago, just after Hermione had agreed to help him with his mother's case. She had reminded him of the agreement Lucius had drawn up with her father in their fifth year. Of course, neither Pansy nor Draco had ever even seen the contract let alone signed it. As far as Draco was concerned, Pansy needed a Saint Mungos examination; there was no way he would ever marry her.

He had told her this, at first gently so as not to hurt her feelings, but then when that hadn't deterred her from bringing material samples and photos of floral centrepieces, he had become more direct in his approach.

It appeared she still hadn't got the memo.

Draco ran a hand through his hair and puffed out his cheeks as pansy continued to rant about colour pallettes.

"The dusty rose would go well with that green, don't you think?" She was babbling. "But then I had this dream of you in navy robes the other night and I just – "

The faint echoing of footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door and Draco felt relief flood through him.

"Pansy," he cut her off. "Can we talk about this later?" He began to walk backwards, guiding her towards the fireplace. "Here," he reached for the pot of Floo powder. "Just go home, and I promise we can talk about this another time."

Pansy took the pot and opened her mouth, her eyes full of angry tears. Before she could speak, however, the door to the library opened. Her gaze slid from the blond in front of her towards the entrance of the library, and her cheeks flushed instantly red.

"Granger?" She gasped.

"Oh!" Hermione stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide. She looked at Pansy, who was standing in front of the fireplace, to Draco, who was standing right in front of Pansy. From an outsider's perspective, Draco assumed it might have looked like an intimate moment between him and the annoying, delusional witch.

"Hermione," he choked. He turned to face her, his face flooding with warmth as his brain finally caught up and realised he had said her name.

"Hermione?" Pansy narrowed her eyes at Draco. With the hand not holding the pot of Floo powder, she pointed an accusing finger at his brunette case manager. "She's Hermione?"

"I-I'm really s-sorry, Draco," Hermione stammered.

Pansy's face looked like lightning might break over it at any minute. "Draco?" She seethed. "What is going on?"

Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Pansy, go home; this is none of your business."

"Of course it is," she hissed. "What is she doing in your house?"

"She's helping me," Draco rounded on her, eyes flashing. "She's helping me with my mother's case, okay? Now would you please leave us to work so that we might stand a chance at actually achieving what we have set out to do?"

Pansy continued to glare, first at Hermione, and then at Draco. Hermione swore she could hear the cogs turning in the other witch's head; the sound was ominous.

"Fine," she spat. Pansy set the pot back on the mantelpiece and took a handful of Floo powder. She threw it into the fire and stepped into the emerald green flames, yelling "Parkinson Manor!" There was the sound of a roaring wind, and she was gone.

Draco's shoulders relaxed as he turned back to face Hermione, who was watching the fireplace with an expression of apprehension and annoyance.

"Hello," Draco attempted a cheerful tone. Hermione's gaze snapped to his.

"Hi," she said.

"Sorry about that," Draco moved towards her and took the book from under his arm.

"I could have left, if you wanted me to," Hermione said slowly, watching him as he made his way across the room.

"Because of Pansy?" Draco chuckled. "No way. Thank you for arriving when you did; I didn't think I'd ever get rid of her."

"What did she want?" Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't meant to sound so interested.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "She wanted to know what colour scheme I thought would be nice for our wedding."

Hermione's eyes bugged. "You're getting married?"

"Merlin no!" Draco shook his head emphatically. "You couldn't pay me enough to marry Pansy." He watched Hermione's expression change from one of incredulity to one of confusion, and he realised how that had sounded. "She is my friend," he amended. "But that's all we are."

"You've been saying that for a while now."

"Because I mean it," Draco huffed. "We are friends, and that's all we ever will be, despite the delusions she plagues herself with."

They stood staring at each other, several feet apart. Draco was still holding the book open, balancing it in his left hand while the fingers of his right splayed across the page. His grey eyes bored into her brown orbs, unable to read the swirling mass of chocolate despite his best efforts.

He felt as though he had been trying to convince her of the platonic nature of his relationship with Pansy forever. Part of him had begun to wonder why she held such a high level of interest; Hermione said it was because it was important to his case that he remains single, at least for now. But a thought had been niggling at him for the past few weeks, and while it was a pleasant one, he refused to get his hopes up, so it continued to scratch at the back of his mind, ignored.

"Okay," Hermione shrugged. She moved further into the library until she reached the loveseat Pansy had recently vacated. "Have you found anything new?"

Draco nodded and came to stand in front of her. "You're going to want to see this," he held the book aloft.

Hermione took the proffered book, her eyes still on Draco. He pursed his lips and dug his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He nodded towards her lap, where she had settled the tome, and she dropped her gaze.

"These are runes," Hermione ran a finger over the brittle pages and frowned. "I don't recognise any of them…"

"I think it's a code," Draco explained. "I think it was left by my father."

Hermione's head snapped up. "What makes you say that?"

"His signature is in the bottom left hand corner."

Hermione glanced down; it looked like a symbol, but now that Draco had pointed it out, she could see the resemblance of an L and an M.

"You took Runes at school, didn't you?" Hermione once again met his gaze, hope evident in Draco's tone.

"Yes," she said slowly. "But these are unlike any I've ever seen."

"We could work on cracking the code," Draco continued. "With your brain, we could probably have it solved by dinner time."

"This is going to take some serious research," Hermione thumbed the pages again. "It's not a matter of attributing a letter to a symbol and working our way through twenty-six possibilities."

Draco sighed, his shoulders slumping as he dropped into the seat next to her. His head rested against the backing of the lounge, and he turned to face her with a dull expression.

"I hate it when you get all sensible, Granger." He huffed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Apologies, Malfoy," she drawled. "But your father didn't want anyone to figure this out; I highly doubt he would have made it easy to decipher. Let me take the book home and I'll see what I can find."

"Fine," Draco breathed as he watched the witch study the page.

He hadn't meant to sound ungrateful; he was simply impatient, tired of working so hard to reap no rewards, and after being cooped up in the Manor for four months, he was a little stir crazy. In reality, Draco was extremely appreciative of all that Hermione had done for him and his mother; it just wasn't like him to say so.

"I'll be off now." She stood and tucked the book under her arm. "See you Friday."

Later, he would reflect that he should have stopped her to say thank you, or sorry – maybe even both. Instead, he watched her leave the library and wondered whether he felt more anger or lust; perhaps the two were not mutually exclusive?

Logic had always been one of Hermione's strong suits, but Lucius' code of runes was not the simple genius of a fourteen year old girl concealing secrets in a diary; nor was it a process of trial and elimination. The senior Malfoy had known what he was doing; Hermione doubted if anyone was meant to discover its meaning, rather believing that it was meant as a reminder for Lucius himself.

Atticus was under enormous pressure keeping up with her other cases while Hermione dedicated the majority of her time trying to enter the mind of Lucius Malfoy; and what a twisted world it was.

When Vivienne stopped in her doorway just before lunch time and asked for a word, Hermione automatically assumed it was due to her treatment of her assistant. She rolled her eyes as she stood from her chair and followed Vivienne down the panelled hallway.

She knew that it was inappropriate of her to dump so much on Atticus; he had no legal training and the work he was doing definitely was not in his job description. Hermione felt a pang of guilt flare in her gut, but she pushed it aside as she entered the blonde witch's office. The fact Vivienne was calling her up on it was frustrating; she was wasting valuable time standing here about to be chastised for doing something that was only technically frowned upon.

How many times had she seen Vivienne's personal assistant running errands outside of her guidelines? Hermione folded her arms across her chest and stood in front of Vivienne's desk. The witch took her seat behind it and smirked up at Hermione.

"What is it, Vivienne?"

"Have a seat."

"I'm actually rather busy," Hermione said curtly. "Please just say what you have to say and I'll be getting back to work."

"That's actually the issue here."

"What is?" Hermione frowned. "My work?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand. I'm on top of all my paperwork, I've submitted all my files on time, and I even had that report prepared and on your desk three days early…"

Hermione trailed off as Vivienne's smirk widened. As if on cue, the door to the office opened and Dustin Dewsong walked in. He was finishing a pastry and dusted his hands on the front of his robes as he entered.

"Greengrass," he nodded to Vivienne. He sneered at Hermione before flopping down in the nearest seat.

"Mister Dewsong," Vivienne sat up straighter. "Thank you for joining us."

"What is this about?" Hermione stepped forward and unlocked her arms, her hands coming to rest on the chair in front of her.

"It's about your case with Draco Malfoy."

Hermione remained silent, biting her tongue to keep from yelling at Vivienne.

"I have it on good authority that you have been meeting with him outside of Ministry hours." Vivienne arched an eyebrow and fixed her face into a gloating expression. Hermione felt her face flush as Dewsong twisted in his seat to look at her.

"Is this true, Granger?" He barked.

"Did Parkinson tell you that?" Hermione was still looking at Vivienne.

"Well that confirms it," Vivienne smiled scathingly, her tone sickeningly sweet. "So you were there last Saturday?"

"I have been doing my job," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "Draco asked for my help; that is what I'm paid to do – to help him. Given that an hour or two per week isn't enough to ensure the wellbeing of my client – "

"Is it not also true that you have visited Narcissa Malfoy twice in the past four months?"

"I – "

"Yes, it is!" Dewsong turned himself more fully now, his large frame moulding around the wooden chair. "I authorised two Azkaban visits for you, Granger, on the request of Harry Potter…" He swung back to look at Vivienne. "I had no idea she was visiting Malfoy's mother!"

"I'm just acting in the best interest of my client!"

"That is not for you to decide."

"Nor was it for you to decide that Draco should be deprived of a case worker for a whole fortnight!"

"Excuse me?" Dewsong stood slowly and hitched at his trousers. "What does she mean, Greengrass?"

"I have no idea – "

"Oh, please," Hermione scoffed and turned to address Dewsong. "After you had that meeting with Morag, Vivienne failed to provide a case worker to visit Malfoy the following week. This oversight nearly cost Malfoy his sanity!"

"Is this true?" Dewsong frowned.

"No," Vivienne shook her head, a grin threatening to split her face in two. She shot Hermione a pointed look and then reached into her desk drawer. She pulled out the Malfoy case file replica and handed it over to Dewsong, who leafed through it.

"It appears to be in order," he said finally, setting it down on the desk.

"What? That can't be!"

"It says right there, Granger, that Greengrass visited Malfoy herself on the day in question; I don't know what office gossip you have been listening to, but – "

"It wasn't office gossip!" Hermione threw back hotly. "Malfoy told me himself!"

Dewsong made a noise of derision through his nose. "Well, Granger, if you're going to listen to stories told by those who deserve less loyalty than You-Know-Who himself, Merlin help you."

"Back to the matter at hand," Vivienne cut in. "Granger, I'm taking you off the Malfoy case. You should know better than to cavort with clients; it is extremely unprofessional and I am very disappointed in you."

She did not sound disappointed. In fact, she sounded elated. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"You can't take me off now," she hissed.

"Oh?" Vivienne arched an eyebrow. "And why not?"

"Because I quit!" Hermione spat. "I'll work the Malfoy case privately; you can't stop me."

Had Hermione been more aware of her surroundings, she would have picked up on Dewsong's sharp inhale, and the paling of Vivienne's cheeks.

"You can't do that," Vivienne shook her head, though the triumph had dimmed somewhat from her eyes. "The Ministry is tied to his case until his probation period is up; he could be sent back to Azkaban."

"Fine!" Hermione roared, throwing her arms wide. "Send one of your minions!" She stepped between the chairs and loomed over Vivienne. "But know this; I will be present at every one of those meetings, as Malfoy's support person, and primary legal representative."

Vivienne blinked slowly as Hermione snapped upright once more and turned on her heel. As she reached the doorway, she looked back over her shoulder. "You've made a big mistake, Vivienne; a very big mistake."


	14. Stirrings

"I'm sorry, Draco." Hermione sighed and flopped down into her armchair, a mobile phone pressed to her ear.

"Don't apologise," Draco's voice crackled through the receiver. "Pansy should be the one who's sorry; why she went to Vivienne and outed you like that…" he trailed off, his breath leaving him in an exasperated exhale.

"I know exactly why she did it," Hermione said darkly, slinging her legs over the side of her seat. "She saw us on Saturday and wanted revenge; I wouldn't be surprised if she pays you a visit in the next few days expecting you to thank her for the favour."

Draco snorted. "She'd have to be pretty thick."

"Well I don't remember her getting many O. back at Hogwarts."

Hermione smirked as Draco chuckled.

"Granger," he suddenly interrupted, "I'm getting another call; I'll ring you back."

He disconnected before she could say goodbye, and she huffed as she lowered the phone away from her face.

"Blaise."

Draco stood from the recliner he had perched in and walked aimlessly across the room.

"Draco," Blaise's voice was muffled, the sound of the wind entering the receiver and garbling his words. "I've just left the office; Pansy Floo'd me."

Draco exhaled forcefully through his nose. "Did she tell you?"

"She thought I'd be glad," the Italian growled. "How is Granger?"

Draco scoffed. Blaise was not an emotional man and his business savvy attitude eclipsed every feeling he had ever experienced, but the blond thought it might be nice of his friend to ask how he was first.

"She's fine. She quit."

"Good," Blaise huffed. There was a creaking sound, a thud, and then the wind stopped. "Listen," his voice was crisper now, though it still echoed as if he were in an open space, "I think I need to come back and do some damage control. I can't help feeling like I'm responsible for this mess."

"Don't be stupid," Draco snorted as he came to a stop in front of an antique vase. He ran a finger down the smooth object absentmindedly. "You weren't to know Pansy would go and blab. Besides, now that Granger isn't working at the Ministry, she's able to spend more time on my mother's case."

"She started her own firm?"

"No," Draco said slowly. "She's just helping me."

"At the Manor?"

Draco wasn't sure he liked Blaise's tone. He bit back a sigh. "Yes, at the Manor. I'm still under house arrest for another two months."

There was a pause, and then. "I've just arrived at the office. I need to reschedule some things, update my Vice and ensure he can take over for a while. I'll see you around dinner time in Wiltshire."

"That's not – ," Draco started to argue, but Blaise had already disconnected the call.

Draco thought about calling him back, but he knew it would do no good; Blaise was almost as stubborn as Granger.

With a sigh, Draco called for Miksy. He asked her to make up one of the guest rooms for Blaise, and then retired to his study, hoping that his friend's stay would be a short one.

As threatened, Hermione arrived promptly at Malfoy Manor on Friday morning. She was greeted at the door by Miksy, and led into the sitting room. They had not met in there since she had agreed to allow Malfoy to help her work on Narcissa's case, but she figured that Draco wouldn't want to allow another Ministry hag into his library.

"Morning," she greeted him as she entered. He was sitting in the armchair she had always thought of as 'his' during their earlier meetings. He glanced up quickly, his face furrowed into a frown. He relaxed as he realised that it was her.

"Hey, Granger," he said softly. "Any idea who will be joining us today?"

"No," Hermione shook her head, her brown curls bouncing. "With any luck, it'll be Morag; I can reason with her well enough."

Draco nodded slowly, but the worried expression did not fade from his face. Hermione was worried too, though she didn't want to let him know that. Though she hoped, she knew that it would be highly unlikely that Vivienne would send Morag. The blonde bimbo wasn't stupid; Morag respected Hermione, and would help facilitate whatever plans the Golden Girl came up with. There weren't that many case managers, however; only Hermione, Morag, and…

"Good morning."

Vivienne.

The blonde witch fixed Hermione with an icy stare, a contrast to the brunette's fiery expression.

"What are you doing here?"

It was a stupid question; it was obvious what she was doing here; what she really wanted to know was why.

"I am Draco Malfoy's new case manager," she turned to Draco and extended her hand. "Vivienne Weasley; we've never been formally introduced though I believe you know my cousins quite well."

"Indeed," Draco accepted her hand and shook it quickly. His face was impassive but Hermione could see that his eyes had tightened and the grey depths of his irises swirled with mistrust. "Please, have a seat."

Vivienne's grin widened as she folded herself into an armchair. Hermione glared back at her and folded her arms across her chest.

"Mister Malfoy," Vivienne began. "I'm here on behalf of the Ministry to conduct an interview to ascertain whether both parties are adhering to the agreement compiled at the time of your release."

Hermione rolled her eyes; and people thought she was wordy! Vivienne continued in the same vein, using flowery language to word each mundane question, all which Draco had memorised during their first meetings. Every now and then the blond witch would get off topic and provide silly anecdotes of her own life, none of which had any bearing on what she was here to do.

Draco looked ready to burst, and Hermione was fighting a serious urge to punch her ex-boss when they were mercifully interrupted.

"Honey, I'm home!" The sarcastic drawl of Blaise Zabini preceded the clicking of his shoes against the marble floors, and the appearance of his masculine frame as it rounded the doorway.

He arched an eyebrow as he took in the scene before him, the rest of his face an emotionless mask.

"Oh, hello," he said warmly, glancing between Hermione and Vivienne. "I was unaware you would be entertaining today, Draco." His question was directed at his scowling childhood friend, but his gaze had not left Vivienne's face.

"Zabini," the witch replied coolly. "Lovely to see you again."

Blaise grinned, showing all of his perfectly white teeth. The action did not reach his eyes. "I wish I could say the same, Greengrass." He inclined his head politely as he retreated from the room.

Vivienne's cheeks tinged pink, but she clamped her mouth shut and turned her attention back to Draco.

"As I was saying, Mr Malfoy," she sniffed. "The Ministry needs to know if you have been in communication with either of your parents."

"I haven't heard from either of them." Draco's tone was neutral, but Hermione detected the bitterness reflected in his otherwise dismissive eyes.

Vivienne tutted. "Given up that easily, have you?" She was goading him, and Hermione had opened her mouth to tell her exactly where she could go, but Draco caught her eye and shook his head. She clamped her teeth over her tongue and bit down hard.

"No," Draco said quietly with a furtive glance back at Hermione. "Granger here is working on my mother's case; all communication goes through her."

Vivienne blinked. "Of course," she said slowly. The witch shuffled some papers and scrawled some notes on a blank piece of parchment. She dotted the final period with a flourish and then looked up at Hermione. "And what correspondence have you had with Narcissa Malfoy?" She arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips in a cocky expression.

Hermione pasted a smile on to her face and adopted a false, cheery sort of tone. "That is confidential information."

"It is information the Ministry needs to ensure Mister Malfoy's needs are addressed while he is still under house arrest."

"Is it really, though?" Hermione questioned, still in the saccharine voice. "Because, forgive me, I fail to see how me communicating with his mother regarding her case has any bearing on Draco's wellbeing insofar as it concerns the Ministry."

Vivienne narrowed her eyes. "I – "

"As a private party simply here to support my client, I believe you asking me questions is a waste of all our time."

"Tea?"

Hermione jumped slightly at the intrusion. Blaise was back, holding a silver tea tray. On it sat a large white tea pot and four tea cups. She stifled a giggle as he came to a stop in front of them all and set the tray down on the coffee table; he had wrapped a frilly pink apron over his expensive-looking suit.

As he stood, he gave them a nod and stepped backwards. Hermione turned towards Draco, who was staring up at his friend with a mixed look of admiration and shock. Laughter bubbled up in Hermione's chest and she had to cough to hide it. Vivienne was looking slightly flustered.

"Thank you," she said in the false voice she usually adopted around the upper management when she wanted something from them. "White, two sugars, please."

Blaise smirked and mock-bowed. He busied himself with arranging Vivienne's tea and then handing her the cup; he did not bother to ask Hermione or Draco whether they would like anything.

When the blonde witch sat with her beverage in hand, Blaise untied the apron with dexterity and flung it over the three-seater before he plonked himself down next to Hermione. She rolled her eyes at him as he slung an arm across the back of it, his fingertips level with her right shoulder. She missed the way Draco's eyes narrowed at the movement; but Blaise didn't.

"Mister Zabini, this is a confidential meeting between myself and Mister Malfoy." Vivienne said in a would-be-casual voice; her gaze had followed Draco's, landing on the way Blaise's hand rested casually behind Hermione.

"Oh?" Said Zabini. "Is that why Granger's here?"

"Miss Granger is here because she is a representative of the Malfoy family," Vivienne said, her tone dismissive. Hermione ground her teeth together. She felt Blaise's fingertips graze her shoulder and she froze; was it an accident or was he trying to warn her?

"Then so am I," Blaise insisted. "I am here in support of Draco. The whole thing has just been so tough on him, mentally."

"You know," Vivienne set her tea on the coffee table and offered Blaise a winning smile. "I think the Ministry would be very interested to get your take on Mr Malfoy's case. You could help us review our practices…" she trailed off, blinking at twice the normal rate.

"Sure," Blaise said, his toothy smile back in place. "Does tomorrow suit? Around noon?"

"Yes," Vivienne nodded. She bent to shuffle her papers back into a leather-bound pouch. Snapping it shut, she placed it into her handbag and stood.

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy," she gushed at Draco. Hermione tasted bile; how anyone could be so obviously fake was beyond her. Draco stood, his face impassive. He did not bid her goodbye, but he did offer her a half-hearted nod. "Until tomorrow, Blaise…" Vivienne fluttered her lashes in the Italian's direction; he smirked in response. She lingered long enough to shoot Hermione one last look of loathing, and then flounced from the room.

As soon as the front door clipped shut, Draco slumped back into his chair and covered his face with a hand. He groaned long and low, but it appeared Blaise was done playing the concerned friend. He turned to Hermione instead.

"Granger," he unhooked his arm from around her shoulders and offered her his hand. "Lovely to see you again; and I actually mean it."

Hermione almost believed him as she allowed him to shake her hand. "Likewise," she murmured.

"I hear you're working to free Narcissa."

"Have been for five years now," Hermione nodded. "I'm afraid it's going to take a little longer though."

"Because of that thing?" Blaise pointed towards the doorway of the sitting room, indicating Vivienne's exit route.

"Yes," Hermione enunciated slowly. "The Ministry are making things far more difficult than strictly necessary; we'll get there though," she nodded at Draco. "I managed to get him out, so…" she trailed off as a look of deep understanding crossed Blaise's face. She wasn't sure if it was a pleasant look.

"Well," he said, standing. "If I can be of any help, please don't hesitate to let me know." He offered her a wink and then buttoned his jacket and strode from the room.

Draco was still hiding behind his hand. "You always were a drama queen," Hermione rolled her eyes as she stood to leave as well. "I'll be back tomorrow for our next research session." She bent to pick up her bag, and Draco finally looked at her. "I have some errands to run this afternoon, but we'll continue on from last week. Okay?"

"When will you be able to see Mother again?"

Hermione sighed. She had hoped he would not ask that question. "Now that I'm no longer an employee of the Ministry, I'm afraid it's unlikely that I will be granted another portkey."

"Granger," Draco said, his body tensing. "It's been weeks and we're no closer to getting her out of there. She could be dead for all I know, she's not answering your letters, and now you're telling me you can't visit her?"

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," she said softly. She meant it, too; Draco seemed to pick up on this as his shoulders slumped and he squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment. When he opened them, they were glassy.

"What about Potter?"

"I don't think I can ask another favour like this of Harry," Hermione shook her head.

"Please?" Draco stood up and stepped forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I need to know that she is okay; this cycle of researching and coming up empty handed, and then waiting for you to find something, and then back to researching is really getting to me. I'm stir crazy and I need to know."

Hermione bit her lip. She could hardly take in his words as the heat from his palms was melting through her sweater and muddling her thoughts. She could sense his desperation, but she knew she couldn't do as he asked this time.

"I'm sorry," Hermione repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not longer an employee of the Ministry; Dewsong will never sign off on it, and it's unfair of me to put Harry under that sort of pressure."

Draco did not reply. He was staring intently down at her, his fingers beginning to trail down her arms. She realised that he was not looking into her eyes as he had been moments ago; his gaze was instead focused on her lips. She opened them to ask him what he was doing – his hands were now at her wrists – but her audible intake of breath seemed to bring him to his senses.

"Okay," Draco stepped back quickly, his hands dropping to his sides. Hermione cleared her throat as warmth flooded her cheeks. She chastised herself for being so foolish, but she could have sworn that he was going to kiss her.

"Goodbye," she said as she took a step back and stumbled into the coffee table. She righted herself and turned too quickly, tripping over her own feet as she skirted around the offending object.

Draco chuckled softly as she caught herself and hurried from the room. "Goodbye, Granger."

Blaise was a constant fixture for the next few days. He hovered during Draco's visit with Hermione, insisting on bringing them new books with potential leads, and drawing them in to conversations about their next move. Draco had known Blaise since he was born and could see straight through his helpful façade; he was keeping an eye on him and Granger.

Hermione was not known as the Brightest Witch of her Age for nothing; she knew what Blaise was doing. She just wasn't sure if it made her feel annoyed or amused. While it did mean that research was slow, it was at least entertaining with Blaise around. He also muted the awkwardness both Draco and Hermione felt after the meeting with Vivienne, so in a way Draco supposed he was grateful…at least a little bit.

That feeling ceased on the Monday following their Blaise-lead research, when Draco was visited by Pansy Parkinson. She arrived via the Floo in his study, rousing him from his desk as if someone had cast a fire charm on the chair.

"Draco," she purred, dusting the soot from the front of her robes. "I've been expecting your call."

"Really, why?" He folded his arms across his chest and fixed her with a solid glare.

"We didn't get to finish our conversation the other day." Pansy's eyes flashed with something akin to fear, but she jutted out her chin as she spoke, her tone even.

"I can't believe you think that I have anything more to say to you, Parkinson."

"Come now, Draco." The witch stepped further into the room. He could smell her sickly perfume; subconsciously, he leaned away. "Let's not be immature about this."

"I'm being immature?" Draco scoffed. "Pansy, you accosted me last week and then ensured my mother's fate would be finalised in that hell hole of a prison!" He was shouting now, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Nonsense," Pansy waved a hand in front of her as if she could simply swat away the truth of his words. "I only came over here to talk about colour schemes; it's hardly my fault if Granger got caught in the crossfire. She shouldn't have been here in the first place."

Draco sighed, exasperation rolling off him in waves. Pansy had been one of his closest friends for too many years; he didn't want to hurt her. "That's not your call, Pans," he said quietly. "This is my house, and I am free to invite whomever I choose to visit me."

"Well, for now, maybe." Pansy smiled, though the action did not reach her eyes. "But when we are married – "

"We're not getting married," Draco said flatly.

"Of course we are."

"No," Draco stepped around his desk and came to stand in front of Pansy, his hands finding her shoulders. "We're not." He looked into her face, searching for evidence of her understanding.

He found none.

"But I don't..." she trailed off, her brow furrowed and her bottom lip protruded in a pout Draco might have once found cute, but now found utterly irritating.

"Merlin, Pansy." He dropped his hands from her shoulders and ran his long fingers through his hair. "We're not getting married; that agreement was drawn up over ten years ago and never signed. Read my lips, witch; it does not exist."

Pansy looked as if Draco had slapped her. "So that's it then?" She choked, a red flush crawling its way across her cheeks. "You're calling off the engagement?"

"There never was an engagement!" Draco erupted, flinging his arms wide.

Pansy was silent for a few moments, her expression a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak. Draco almost felt sorry for her as he stood not a pace from her, nostrils flared and breathing heavily.

"Just know," she spat as she gathered up her coat and backed up towards the fireplace, "that I'm the best you will ever have, Draco Malfoy. Call me when you've figured that out."

In a cloud of green, she was gone. She had barely left the grate when Blaise appeared.

"Hey," he grinned as he waltzed into the study. "Were you yelling at someone?"

"Pansy," Draco ground out, returning to his desk. "The one time you leave me alone, she turns up."

Blaise's eyes went wide. "I promise I didn't know she was planning to visit; I haven't spoken to her since she rang to tell me about Granger."

Draco sighed. "I believe you." He placed his elbows on the surface of the desk and rested his head in his hands.

"Speaking of, how is the Golden Girl? Has she cracked the code yet?"

"No," Draco muttered. "It's going to take more than a few days and some hope, Blaise."

"I have faith," the Italian wizard replied sagely as he sat in a chair opposite Draco. "Granger never did know how to let things go. My bet is that with her tenacity, your mother will be free by the end of the month."

Draco made a noise of assent in his throat but did not reply. He would not admit out loud that he was indeed hoping that Granger would pull this off sooner rather than later. He had never been one for hoping or relying on other people to care for his family; this was new territory, and it was terrifying.

Blaise would not afford him the luxury of brooding, however. His friend appeared to have brought the conversation around to the topic he was most eager to discuss.

"You and Granger," he began as he adjusted the buttons on his suit, "you make quite the team."

Draco appraised Blaise from between his fingers. The Italian smirked, and Draco sighed in annoyance. "Don't start with that again please, Blaise. I'm begging you; I do not need to be warned off from Granger. I know she isn't right for me."

"That's not what I was going to say." Blaise's smirk widened.

"I can only imagine what is rolling around inside your egg-shaped head now," Draco half-groaned. He sat back, allowing his full weight to push against the high backing of his chair.

"My head is a perfectly normal shape, thank you very much." Blaise rubbed at his scalp subconsciously. "And don't try to change the subject."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Come on then, get it over with."

Blaise shrugged, lacing his fingers together over his abdomen as he rested in his seat. "I fear I need to retract my earlier warnings; the way you two move around each other is actually perfect."

Draco choked on a laugh. What kind of a sick joke was this?

"I mean it, Draco," Blaise sat forward again, his arms resting on the desk as he looked imploringly into the blond's face. "You and Granger actually look good together. And when you nearly kissed her…" he trailed off, making a low whistling noise through pursed lips.

"What are you talking about?" Draco's ears were ringing and he was suspicious that he had somehow crossed into an alternative universe. "I didn't nearly kiss Granger!"

"Wow," Blaise's smirk was back. "You really are thick; good luck to Granger, I guess."

He stood and stretched, but Draco's brain had started to catch up. "Oh, I get it," the blond grinned as he slowly rose from his seat. "You want me to seduce Granger to quicken the process of my mother's hearing."

"What?" Blaise blinked. "No, you prat; I'm being honest here. Have you ever known me to speak otherwise?"

"On several occasions," Draco deadpanned.

Blaise huffed. "Girls at Hogwarts don't count." He pointed a ring-clad finger at Draco and raised an eyebrow. "I'm serious about this, mate; you and Granger have synergy."

Draco's eyes narrowed as he peered back at his friend. "When is my birthday?" He asked quietly, his voice having taken on a soft and menacing edge.

"June fifth," Blaise answered, "why?"

"In sixth year when I was disappearing at night time, where did I tell you I was going?"

"To shag Pansy in the stacks," Blaise mimicked Draco's expression. "Why?"

"I had to make sure it was you," Draco shrugged. His tone suggested that he was disappointed. "I thought maybe someone was impersonating you."

"Mate," Blaise's expression was one of arrogance once more as he gestured towards himself, "no one could impersonate this."

"Sod off," Draco waved at him in a shooing motion.

Blaise tutted but did as he was told, leaving Draco once more with his thoughts. He would have been grateful to be left with his thoughts just twenty minutes ago, but now they were firmly centred on a certain brunette witch and the ludicrous idea Blaise had spouted.

It is ludicrous, he told himself. Utterly, totally, absolutely…ludicrous.


	15. Dealing with the Devil

A fortnight passed without much progress. Hermione could tell Draco was growing more and more restless, and though she tried hard, it was becoming increasingly difficult to reign in her own frustration.

"I just don't see the point in fixating on this one thing," Draco gestured towards the book Hermione had open in her lap. It was the one with Lucius' markings.

"You were the one who suggested it may be important." Hermione said, her tone clipped.

Draco puffed out both cheeks and released his breath in a harsh gust. "Well obviously I was wrong."

"I don't think so," Hermione shook her head but did not glance up from the text. "I know I can crack this."

"When?" Draco snapped. He was lounging in the recliner while Hermione was sitting cross legged on the floor. He had leant back in the chair, but his ire had made him tense.

"I don't know," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "But I can tell you that we would get there a lot faster if you stopped harassing me and instead began to help me."

"Forgive me, Granger," Draco deadpanned, "but I seem to recall you saying that you would work on cracking the code?"

"Yes," Hermione huffed and brought her gaze up to meet his steely grey eyes. "But I didn't mean that you couldn't help me. I could easily study this at home," she held up the book slightly. "I don't need to come to the Manor every second day."

"Then don't," Draco shrugged as if he couldn't care less if she never came back, but his stormy eyes told a different story.

Hermione snapped the book shut and stood, looming over him. "Draco Malfoy, I have sacrificed quite enough for you and your family," her voice was shaking but she continued. "I think you shouldd be more grateful!"

"I am!" He insisted, running a hand through his hair. "It's just that I thought we would be closer, you know?"

"I know," Hermione echoed, though her eyes remained tight and she had placed her free hand that wasn't clutching the book on her hip. "But frustration doesn't give you the right to use me as your emotional punching bag."

"I'm so sorry for not being the little ray of sunshine one would expect from a wizard who is being kept prisoner in his own home; where are my manners?" He deadpanned. "I'm not a bloody house elf, you know."

"Neither am I!" Hermione spat. "If you don't want my help then just say so!"

"I do want your help!" Draco countered, rising to his feet. "I just don't think that's what you're doing?"

"What? I'm not helping? Draco, I gave up my job for this!"

"I thought this was your job!"

"That's not the point!"

"I'd love to know what the point is, because everything we have done so far seems fucking pointless! My mother is still behind bars and at this rate I might not even be free from house arrest before her fucking funeral!" He was shouting now, and each of his words sliced through Hermione as if they were knives.

She only realised once he had finished that tears had pooled in her eyes and she blinked them back. "Well," she cleared her throat, "if that's how you feel…" she snatched at the book and turned to stalk from the room but was stopped by a solid wall of muscle. Blaise caught her by the shoulders as she stumbled, his sweet-smelling cologne overpowering her nostrils.

She shrugged him off and pushed past him, leaving the bewildered wizard to glare accusingly at Draco.

"Just leave it, Blaise." Hermione heard him utter as she sped away from the library. "Please, just…leave it."

On Monday morning, Hermione was woken by the roar of the fireplace. She had once again fallen asleep on the couch, Lucius' book open across her chest. Only this time it wasn't the cold or the unforgiving stiffness of the couch that roused her from sleep; it was a tall, dark visitor.

"Morning." Blaise sing-songed as he dusted off the front of his robes.

Hermione had barely opened an eyelid but at the sound of his voice, she was instantly on her feet, the book dropping to the floor with an unceremonious thud. Her wand was in her hand and pointed directly at his chest, a stunning spell on the tip of her tongue.

"Merlin fucking damn you, Zabini!" Hermione gasped as she lowered her arm, her wand still clenched in her fist.

Blaise made a sound like a laugh through his nose, but it didn't last long enough for Hermione to confirm that it was mirth. He stepped forward with a hand outstretched. Hermione, her heart still thudding painfully against her ribcage, looked down at his offering and frowned.

"An old, chipped teapot. Wow, Blaise. You really shouldn't have." She deadpanned.

"A portkey," he corrected her coolly.

Hermione's head snapped up to meet his gaze. "A - ?"

"You have an hour."

He dropped the teapot into her hands; she caught it clumsily by the handle. No sooner had the cracked porcelain made contact with her skin, Hermione was tugged forward into nothingness. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out, and before she knew it her feet hit solid ground.

Her dismount was not graceful, but she commended herself for being able to stay upright given the circumstances. Setting the teapot on the table to her right, Hermione pocketed her wand and looked around; she was back in the Warden's office in Azkaban.

"You have an hour."

Blaise's words swam around in her mind and she shook herself into action.

"Narcissa."

From the office, Hermione took the stairs two at a time. By the time she reached the eleventh floor, she was wheezing, out of breath, and clutching a painful stitch on her right side.

The walk from the stairwell to the far end of the corridor seemed longer than usual, the dark tunnel stretching for eons until…

"Miss Granger?" A rasp from the last cell on the left caught her ears. The muffled mumblings of the other prisoners rose slightly at the sound.

"Mrs Malfoy?" Hermione jogged the last few steps and fell to her knees against the bars of Narcissa's cell.

The blonde woman was lying on the straw-strewn ground, huddled in the foetal position and pressed right up against the bars. Hermione's heart clenched; had Narcissa been waiting for her?

"I'm afraid I don't have much time." Hermione wrapped both of her hands around the bars and whispered as quietly as she could. "I found a book I believe belonged to your husband." Narcissa made a high-pitched noise through her nostrils but did not stir beyond it. Hermione hurried on, conscious of Blaise's time restraint. "It has runes on it; runes I believe were drawn by Lucius himself." Narcissa whimpered. "I need to decipher them; can you give me a clue? Anything that could be helpful?"

Narcissa was silent for several long minutes. The symphony of the other inmates screeching, whistling, and murmuring mixed with the distant sound of the sea lapping against rocks and the wind whistling through the cracks in the stone; it made Hermione feel dizzy.

Just as she was about to give up, Narcissa took a long, ragged breath, as if she had been underwater for a long time and had just managed to break the surface.

"I have told you," she began, "once before…" she trailed off and fell limp once more. A few seconds later her eyes fluttered, though they remained closed, and she continued; "Lucius kept the records in the Ministry."

Hermione felt desperation prickle in her chest; now that she was no longer a Ministry employee, she had no hope of ever accessing those records. At least, not easily.

"Is there anywhere else I can check? Or something else I can do?" She hoped the anxiety wasn't too obvious in her voice.

"You could ask him." Narcissa finally replied.

Hermione sat back on her heels, allowing her fingers to drop from the cold, hard iron. Go and see Lucius? She had not entertained the idea; she had no intention of working for him or with him. While his wife and son did not deserve to be punished for their role in the war, Lucius Malfoy certainly did. Hermione had vowed when she began working on the Malfoy case that she would never lay eyes on the patriarch of the family. But maybe Narcissa was on to something; maybe this was a hint.

Hermione stood abruptly and thanked Narcissa. She turned on her heel without a proper goodbye and broke into a run. She sprinted down the corridor and back down the stairs, spiralling downwards until she collided with a solid body on the second floor.

"Sorry!" She huffed as she was thrown backwards.

"Hermione?"

Hermione froze; she knew that voice, and this was the worst possible time to run in to the person it was attached to.

"Ron," she tried to keep her voice calm.

"What are you doing here?"

"None of your business." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. At first, Ron looked taken aback, but then his eyes narrowed and he leaned towards her.

"Actually, it is," he disagreed. "I'm on patrol here, and you're in a restricted area."

"I'm here on legal business," she said haughtily. "The specifics really aren't your business; confidentiality and all that." She checked her watch. "Any way, must be off."

She tried to push past him, but his strong hand wrapped around her left elbow. "Hermione, you can't be here!" He hissed. "I know you're here for Malfoy and I don't like it; you can't trust him."

Hermione scoffed and tugged against his hold to no avail. "What would you know about trust, Ronald?" She spat. "Let go of me!"

Ron's grip tightened to the point of being painful. "No," he shook his head emphatically. "I won't let you make this mistake."

Hermione ground her teeth together and fumbled in her pocket with her free hand. It wrapped around the solid wood of her wand and before Ron knew what was happening, she had pointed it at him and shouted; "Stupefy!"

The grip on her arm loosened immediately as Ron fell with a thud to the stone floor. He lay there motionless, but Hermione did not take any time to check to see if he was still breathing; as far as she was concerned, he deserved everything he got.

She took off at a sprint once more, and finally reached the Warden's office. She opened the door with such force, the wood bounced against the wall, the crash echoing around the space. She knew she didn't have a lot of time, definitely not enough to carefully search the space for prisoner records.

"Accio Lucius Malfoy's records!" She waved her wand, but the filing cabinets remained closed. She swore colourfully under her breath and stowed her wand hurriedly back in her pocket. In the back of her mind, Hermione had known it would not be that easy, but she was still annoyed that the simple spell hadn't worked.

She threw herself further into the room and slammed the door behind her; she was on borrowed time. Her heart thudded in her chest as if threatening to burst from it. Reaching the first cabinet, she grasped the cool metal handle and tugged; it would not budge.

Of course, she thought savagely to herself.

"Dunamis!"

She had managed to shield one ear with her free hand just before the explosion; the other rang as if an old-fashioned kettle had set up residence in her cochlea. With her ear still whirring, she staggered forward and clung to the front of the filing cabinet, which was now barely intact and smoking from her spell.

"Accio Luicus Malfoy's records!" She repeated.

This time, several sheafs of parchment flew through the air and into her awaiting hands. She glanced down at the top piece of paper; he was on the fifth floor. Without bothering to put the room back together, she once again left the office and thundered up the stairs. She leapt over Ron's stirring form with surprising grace and continued until she reached the stairwell with a large, red number five painted on the wall.

She slowed her pace only slightly as she made her way down the corridor, moving in a zig-zag pattern from cell to cell, looking for the tell-tale platinum locks.

She found him about halfway down.

"I wondered when I would be seeing you, Miss Granger."

Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice. It was lower and much more hoarse than she remembered, but icy disdain still laced every word, and his enunciation was that of a perfectly raised pureblood.

"Oh?" She collected herself quickly and moved a step closer to his cell.

Just like Narcissa, Lucius Malfoy showed the tell-tale signs of having spent a long time in Azkaban, though his were not as severe. His hair was still long, though it was not as shiny or as clean as it had once been. There were scratches on the back of his hands as he wrapped them around the bars. His face was puffy and there was a bruise under one eye, but he managed to look as haughty and as proud as ever.

"Yes," he breathed, pressing his face between the bars. Hermione fought a shiver. "Draco's told me all about you…" He trailed off and cocked his head to the side. Hermione was reminded forcefully of a similar conversation in a book shop at the beginning of her second year. She pushed the memory aside and stood a little straighter.

"I'm here on his behalf," she began, keeping her voice as low as possible. There weren't as many sounds in this corridor as there were on the eleventh, but the whispered musings of insane witches and wizards still swam about the freezing air. "And on behalf of your wife."

At the mention of Narcissa, Lucius dropped his arrogant façade for a fraction of a second.

"My wife?" He repeated, a frown marring his features. "You're representing her?"

"You didn't know?" Hermione took another step forward, feeling that she may have found her advantage. "I've been working to free her for as long as I've been working to free Draco."

Lucius' eyes hardened again, and Hermione chastised herself for using his first name.

"Indeed." Lucius said. Hermione could practically hear the cogs turning in his head. "So then, why are you here talking to me if you're working to free my wife?"

"I need your help." Hermione stated. "I have found a book with runes; runes written in your handwriting."

"You have no business going through my property!" The blond was unable to contain his fury.

Hermione smirked. "Actually, I do. But that isn't the point. I believe that the runes are the key to setting Narcissa free, and I would like for you to tell me how to decipher them."

Lucius sneered, but did not respond straight away. Hermione let him stew in his thoughts, her outward demeanour calm and nonchalant. On the inside, she was screaming for him to hurry up; the portkey would not wait, and her hour was almost up.

Finally, he replied; "And if I do tell you how to decode the runes, what will I get in return?"

"With that information I can clear the names of your wife and son; they will be able to live their lives free of the stigma you attached to them."

Lucius' lip curled. "That's not enough." He snarled. "I have a proposition for you, Granger. I'll give you the information you need, but I want to be rid of this place, too. If I hand over the code, you will give me my freedom. Do we have a deal?" He extended one hand slowly through the iron bars.

Hermione wanted to say no. She wanted to turn away and walk down the corridor, back to the awaiting portkey. She was the brightest witch of her age; she didn't need the likes of Lucius Malfoy to help her.

But then she remembered Narcissa, how this time she didn't even have the strength to sit up. She remembered how Draco had been growing moodier with every visit and her heart clenched almost painfully. Yes, Hermione was a logical witch, but she also had a very big heart, and in that moment, it won over every thought in her head.

"Deal." She said, jutting her chin out and accepting his hand. She shook it once and then immediately stepped back again. "Now tell me the code."

He smirked, an ugly twisting of his mouth, until he looked less than human. Hermione shivered, instantly regretting her decision to work with him. "You'll need to access the Ministry vaults. The code is hidden in a locked case on level three of the underground archives; behind door four."

Hermione committed the information to memory and then nodded once. "Thank you," she said brusquely. "I must go now." She turned to leave, but Lucius called her back.

"Remember Miss Granger; a deal you form with a Malfoy is one that must be upheld for as long as both parties live. Should you think of double crossing me, please know I will make it my personal mission to erase any happiness from your life. Good day."

With that he turned away from the front of his cell and shuffled back towards the scrap of cloth he used as a bed. Hermione wanted to retaliate; to remind him that she was his ticket out of here, and that if she decided to betray him, there wouldn't be much he could do while rotting in Azkaban.

But she didn't have time. Instead, she threw one last look of loathing over her shoulder before sprinting back down the corridor. The stairs clanged as she made her descent, and voices of guards echoed around the space. She pushed harder as she hit the landing of the second floor, where Ron was getting to his feet. She flew past him, knocking her elbow into his midsection which caused him to double over, winded.

Without pause, she shouldered her way back in to the Warden's office which still resembled a bombsite. She waved her wand to undo the damage she had create earlier. No sooner had the filing cabinet sealed itself once more, the portkey began to glow. Hermione lunged to take a hold of it and instantly felt the familiar tug behind her navel; she was gone, swirling through space until she landed gracelessly back in her apartment.

Blaise was lounging on her couch, one leg propped over the other, a book open in his lap. He used his index finger to follow the words as he read them. He did not look up as Hermione thudded back into the space.

"Merlin!" She huffed as she got to her feet. "Some warning would have been nice, Zabini."

"Perhaps." He noted the page number and closed the book, his gaze coming to rest lazily on her face. "But then, where's the fun in that?"

Hermione glared at him as she came to sit by him. He shuffled over to make room, but not enough to create a respectable distance between them. She would have felt uncomfortable had she not been eager to chastise him for his accosting her earlier.

"Just when did you plan for this?"

"I overheard your conversation with Draco last fortnight," he replied easily, his dark eyes intent on her own. Hermione frowned. "The one about how you couldn't ask Potter for another portkey to visit Narcissa."

"Oh." Her frowned deepened and a blush began to creep its way up her neck as she remembered the moment she had believed Draco was about to kiss her. Her stomach swooped as the memory of the way his hands had slid own her arms tortured her senses.

"It took me longer than I had hoped to convince the witch in charge of portkeys to arrange one." He raised one eyebrow. "Anyway," he rose to his feet and buttoned his jacket together. "How did it go? Did you manage to see Narcissa?"

"I did." Blaise hummed in triumph, but Hermione held up a hand to stall his celebration. "I also saw Lucius."

"What?"

Hermione sighed. "Narcissa is in a really bad way, Zabini. She can barely move, and her breathing is atrocious. I didn't have a choice; he has the key to cracking the damn code and I had to go and ask him."

"Granger, Lucius Malfoy is as much a criminal today as he was when the Dark Lord returned in 1995. Please tell me he didn't give you any information and that you left immediately upon his refusal?"

Hermione slowly shook her head and Blaise let out a string of expletives, several of which she had never heard before.

"He told me where to find the code."

"And what have you promised him in return?" Blaise's eyes flashed accusingly, and Hermione swallowed against the argument brewing in her chest.

"I told him I would free Narcissa…as well as him."

"Fucking hell!" Blaise began to pace, both hands on his hips. "That wasn't the plan!" He rounded on her again. "Draco is going to be ropable."

"About what?" Hermione countered. "If I can get the code, Narcissa will be free by the end of the month."

"And Lucius?" Blaise shot back. "He's evil; pure evil, and you're just going to let him walk free!"

"I'll make sure he's kept under strict house arrest for at least twelve months, and he will be heavily monitored."

"You can't guarantee that!" Blaise shouted, throwing his arms wide. He stood staring at her for several seconds and Hermione got to her feet. Before she could begin her tirade, however, he lowered his arms and softened his voice. "Granger, I appreciate that you're trying to do the right thing by Narcissa and Draco; but making this sort of deal with Lucius was a big mistake."

"Maybe so," Hermione said tightly. "But let's not forget you're the one who turned up in my apartment unannounced this morning. You threw a portkey at me with no warning or guidelines, and I did the best I could do given the circumstances. Forgive me if I didn't get everything right!"

Blaise sighed and he squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment. When he opened them, they had softened, and Hermione felt the fight leave her in one breath. "I'm sorry, Granger." He said. "I do appreciate everything you're doing. What did Lucius say?"

Blaise resumed his seat on the couch and Hermione sat next to him, though further away this time, tucking her legs beneath her. "The records are in the Ministry vaults in the underground archives." She said.

Blaise sucked in a breath. "That won't be easy to get to."

"I have a plan," Hermione said quickly. "I may not work there anymore but I can visit Harry."

"And Potter will just allow you to go into the underground archives and look about, in order to free Lucius Malfoy? Sure." Blaise drawled.

"No, you prat." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'll go directly into the archives; if anyone asks, I'll say I'm there on business for Harry." She grinned at the impressed look on Blaise's face.

"You know," he began slowly, "you would have made a damn good Slytherin, Granger."

Hermione huffed indignantly. "I'm beginning to hear that a lot lately. I'm not sure if I like it."

"Well, if it comes from an actual Slytherin," Blaise stood and gathered his coat, "I'd take it as a very sincere compliment." He winked at her before turning on his heel and disapparating with a loud crack!


	16. A Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roses are red
> 
> Violets are blue
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter
> 
> This is sad, but true
> 
> Thanks to my alpha/beta Littlered1992 as usual! :D
> 
> Enjoy my little cliffhanger *cackles evilly* xx

Hermione visited the Ministry the following morning, arriving early and making her way to the underground archives. At this hour, the place was deserted, which meant that it was the perfect time to snoop around. Hermione reached the bolted door and held up her Ministry identification card to the magical scanner. She was not expecting it to be valid, so she jumped back in surprise when the light glowed green and the doors slid open; obviously Dewsong had forgotten to cancel it.

Hermione quietly slipped past the doors which shut with a clang behind her. For a fraction of a second, the room was pitch black, but then hundreds of candles burst into life, throwing the rows of doors on either side of the corridor into sharp relief. Hermione began to walk, her shoes clicking softly on the stone floor. At the end of the corridor she stepped into the elevator and pressed the golden '3', tapping her foot impatiently as the doors closed.

Landing on the third floor of the archives, Hermione exited the elevator and began her journey down an identical corridor to the first. This time, when the doors were lit by overhead candles, numbers appeared on them. She located number four to her right almost instantly, and made her way over to it.

She had never needed to open one of the archive doors before, so she was unsure how to go about it. Hermione reached for her identification again and held it up to the door. The door did not respond. She tried again with her palm, and with her wand to no avail. Feeling nostalgic, she even attempted  _Alohomora,_  but she was not surprised when that one didn't work.

"Hermione?"

She jumped at the sound of a familiar voice. The tall figure of a black-haired wizard was making its way towards her.

"Harry?"

"What on earth are you doing down here?"

"I – "

"Come with me." Harry stopped beside her, his gaze fixed on the door. "Now."

He turned and strode back down the corridor towards the elevators. Hermione wanted to argue, but she knew by the tone of his voice that it would do her no good. She sighed emphatically and stomped after him, stowing her identification in her jeans pocket.

The elevator ride and subsequent ascent was silent. Hermione seethed silently as she stared at the back of his head; Harry's hair still stuck out in all directions as it had done when they were children. Finally, they reached Harry's floor and Hermione followed him into the Auror's corridor.

Harry smiled easily as he moved through the space, greeting his colleagues as if nothing more was happening than a friend visiting him at work. He offered one last wave at a squat wizard with teal-coloured hair before he ushered Hermione into his office and closed the door. His calm manner disappeared as soon as it had clicked shut.

"What the actual fuck were you thinking, Hermione?" He rounded on her. "What were you doing in the underground archives?"

"I'm here on confidential business," she folded her arms across her chest. "I need access to that vault."

"Do you have any idea what that vault contains?" Harry hissed.

"Of course I do."

Harry paused as her words sank in. "Of course you do," he echoed.

"Harry, now is not the time to be having this argument." Hermione moved towards the door. "I really need to get back down there. I promise I'll come and see you the second I'm – "

"You're not going back down there." Harry shook his head and moved to stand behind his desk. "It will be heavily guarded now, and I forbid it. Give me your identification card."

"What? No!" Hermione's eyes widened. "I need to get into that vault!"

"You're no longer a Ministry employee," Harry warned. "Your identification should have been cancelled."

"I just need it for a little bit longer." Hermione sounded pathetic to her own ears.

"This is about Malfoy, isn't it?" Hermione remained silent. "Ron told me about Azkaban." His eyes flashed accusingly and Hermine felt fire bubble in her chest.

"He deserved what he got," she spat. "And if you think otherwise, then perhaps you should reconsider our friendship."

Harry looked like she had slapped him. "Hermione," he began, "this isn't about Ron; you stunned an  _Auror._  That's a criminal offence! Not to mention he's married to the Head of Case Management; have you no concern for your own wellbeing?"

"Did he tell Vivienne?" Hermione asked. She knew the consequences would not be pleasant if he had, but part of her still hoped he had run home to cry about it.

"No," Harry answered. "But that isn't my point!"

"He was in the way," Hermione snapped.

"Of what?"

"It doesn't matter," Hermione shook her head.

Harry appraised her and had she not known how terrible he was at legilimency, Hermione would have sworn he was looking inside her mind.

"You saw Narcissa again."

"She's dying, Harry." Hermione saw a flash of regret glow briefly behind his glasses.

"Why," Harry slumped in his chair, "do I get the feeling that this has more to do with your  _feelings_  for Malfoy than concern for his mother?"

Hermione felt her cheeks heat and she took a step forward, hands on her hips. "How dare you," she seethed. "I care very much about Narcissa's wellbeing, and I have worked for years to free both her and Draco from Azkaban!"

"You have always been one to save those you deemed worthy of saving, Hermione," Harry said quietly. "Your hero complex is second only to my own. I'm not questioning your morals." He rose from his chair and leant forward, his palms resting on the top of his desk so that he could look at her in the eye. "I've been your best friend for over a decade," he continued. "I know that look; you're falling for him."

"I'm not falling for anyone!" Hermione replied hotly, though as the words left her mouth she registered the falseness on her tongue. She pushed the thought aside before it could fully form.

"What I don't understand is how someone as sensible as you fell for a cold-hearted prick like Draco Malfoy." Harry began to pace, his movements becoming more agitated as he spoke. "You do remember who he is, right?" Harry pivoted as he reached the far end of his office and adopted a dry, sarcastic tone. "Stupid pointed face like a rat, personality of a blast-ended-skrewt...actually I think I'd prefer to dine with the skrewt..." he trailed off, but the implication of what he was thinking hung in the air.

"I know perfectly well who Draco Malfoy was, thank you Harry," Hermione sniffed, her own voice laced with heavy sarcasm. "However, if you would take a moment to climb down from your high hippogriff, you would realise that he isn't the same person anymore! None of us are!" She glanced around the room, as if to point out the crowd of a thousand people, though they were alone.

Harry made a noise of dissent through his nostrils. "Give me a break, Hermione," he scoffed. "It's written all over your face; you like him."

"Not like that I don't!" Hermione replied shrilly.

"Then why are you fighting so hard for him? For his family?"

"Because Draco and Narcissa don't deserve that fate."

" _Draco_  and  _Narcissa_? Merlin's saggy Y-fronts, Hermione, do you even hear yourself?"

"You are completely blinded by the eleven-year-old in you, who met another eleven-year-old boy who had been raised in a completely different way!" Harry tried to interrupt, but Hermione barrelled on. "Don't you see?" Her tone was pleading now. "Don't you see how similar you both are?"

"Hold it right there!" Harry was growling now, a finger pointed accusingly at Hermione. "I am nothing like that slimy snake, and I would have thought you of all people would see that!"

Hermione stomped her foot, exasperation getting the better of her. "Think about it for just one second!" She pleaded, her voice high and loud. "He was raised to believe that he was superior to everyone, not only for being a wizard, but for being a pureblood and a Malfoy!"

"He was - and still is - the biggest dick I've ever had the misfortune to meet!" Harry retaliated. "Have you also forgotten that he was the twelve-year-old who relished in the idea of you being killed by the fucking basilisk? He literally said, 'I hope it's Granger.'" Harry opened his arms again, palms facing out in a stance that clearly said 'see?'

"He was a child. We all were!"

"And let's not forget fifteen-year-old Malfoy, taking up a position next to Umbridge like he was the next Dark Lord himself!" Harry continued as if he hadn't heard her. "And sixth year - at sixteen years old your precious Draco led a cohort of Death Eaters into Hogwarts; an act!"

"He had no choice on which side of the war he fought on, and if you would just take your head out of your own arse for five seconds, you'd be able to see that!" Hermione licked her lips, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She was unsure if they were from hurt or frustration. "He didn't kill Dumbledore! He couldn't do it - you said so yourself! He lowered his wand."

"Only because he was a coward!" Harry roared. "A coward who didn't make a fucking decision! See Hermione, can't you see? Not making a choice is just as bad as making the wrong one!"

"He didn't have a choice!" She screamed back, tears now running freely down her face. "He was a child, just like you! He was just born in to the wrong side. You were the Chosen One; The Boy Who Lived...you had no choice either, Harry!"

"Except me not making a choice would mean that HE WOULD HAVE BEEN ON THE WINNING SIDE!" Hermione hiccupped, but narrowed her eyes at Harry. "How do you think you'd go with Malfoy if he had have come out on top? Do you think you'd have found him after all this time and canoodled up with him? Do you think Voldemort would have spared you as a gift for dear old Draco? Would Lucius Malfoy welcome you with open arms in to his fucking drawing room? A nice family reunion with Bellatrix under the chandelier."

Harry's eyes flashed first with unbridled anger, and then instant regret. He knew he had gone too far.

"Hermione, I - "

Hermione held up a hand to stop him as he took a step towards her. The tears were still leaking steadily from her eyes, but she now felt more in control of her emotions.

"Save it, Harry." She whispered. As she opened her mouth, tears ran in and she tasted salt on her tongue.

"What is going on in here?" The door to Harry's door opened and they both looked around to see Ginny.

"Nothing," Hermione shook her head and began to side step towards the door. "I was just leaving."

"Hey," Ginny caught her by the shoulders as she was making her exit. "What happened?" She glanced up at her husband, who was staring at the back of Hermione's head like he'd only just realised she was in the room.

Hermione pulled herself from Ginny's grip. "Nothing," she sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "I'll see you around, Gin."

* * *

Draco had been moping around the Manor ever since his argument with Granger, and Blaise had just about reached his limit with the brooding blond.

"Just call her," he said as he lounged on the sitting room couch.

Draco glared at him from his position in an armchair. "I'm not upset about Granger."

Blaise made a sound of derision through his nose. "Mate, I know you're upset about your mother, but you can't deny that you feel something more than friendship towards Granger."

Draco screwed up his face. "Yes, I can. Because I don't."

Blaise sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "She's doing the best she can, you know. It would be the least you can do to extend the olive branch."

"I know," Draco bit out.

He was aware of Granger's hard work; he had had a front row seat for the past few months. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for all she had done – he was. But that didn't mean he wanted to talk to her, and he certainly wasn't missing the brunette witch…

Blaise shifted in his seat and Draco watched him from the corner of his eye. When he was upright, the Italian wizard licked his lips and dipped his head so that he could make eye contact. "Mark my words, Malfoy," Draco jumped a little at the use of his last name; they only ever used surnames during banter, "if that witch walks through this door before you've made amends, whatever chance you have with her will be gone forever. Do the right thing."

He stood as Draco spluttered incoherently. "I don't – that's – not even what –  _who are you_?"

"She deserves…" Blaise trailed off as Draco sat bolt upright, his head whipping round to face the front of the house.

"The wards," he explained. "I think she's here."

Blaise swore under his breath. "Of course," he muttered sarcastically. "Don't say I didn't try to warn you."

Draco glared at his friend as he rose to look him in the eye. "When did you say you were going back to Italy?"

Blaise sneered, but retreated from the room as Draco moved quickly in the direction of the front door. He pulled on the handle just as Hermione arrived on the other side. Without so much as a greeting she rushed inside, shouldering past him and continuing in to the house.

"Zabini?" She called as she stopped in the foyer. "Are you here?"

"How lovely to see you too, Granger. Do come in." Draco deadpanned, coming to stand behind her. "Would you care for some tea? Blaise? Yes, he's just – "

"You called, Granger?" Blaise appeared on the staircase which led to the upper floors.

"I need to speak with you."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Hermione glanced briefly over her shoulder. "In private."

Draco's teeth ground audibly together, but neither Blaise nor Hermione paid him any attention. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room. Blaise descended the last few stairs and came to stand in front of Hermione, his hands in his trouser pockets.

"Not that I'm not delighted to see you," he murmured, "but I think it would be best if you talk to Draco first. He's been absolutely unbearable the past few days; he could use some good news."

"I don't have any," Hermione held her hand up to silence him. "I went to the Ministry, but Harry caught me before I could open the door."

Blaise snapped his mouth shut and exhaled heavily through his nostrils. "And he wouldn't help you?"

"He accused me of having romantic feelings for Draco and threw our past in my face as if I have no more intelligence than a flobberworm."

"I see." Blaise's tone was conversational, but Hermione didn't miss the way his jaw tightened.

"I'll work it out," Hermione rubbed a hand over her forehead and glanced around; they were still alone. "I did actually come to see Draco," she whispered, a small smirk tugging on the corners of her mouth. "But I figured he deserved a little more salt in the wound before I make my apologies."

Blaise shook his head. "Don't make any apologies; he's the git. Let him be the one to say sorry first," he raised his head towards the hallway, "for once in his life."

Hermione's smirk widened and she nodded before turning on her heel and retracing her steps towards the sitting room. She found Draco in there, sitting in an armchair with his arms folded tightly across his chest. His face was like a thunder cloud, and she wondered if he would be able to utter an apology with his jaw clenched so hard.

"Malfoy," she greeted him coolly.

"Granger." He did not unclench his jaw, so the salutation was garbled.

Hermione stood in the middle of the room and placed her bag on the floor. She regarded him for several long minutes. Having never been much good at the waiting game, or the silent treatment, or just not talking for that matter, it was no surprise that she was the first to break the stand-off.

"I went to see your mother."

Draco's head snapped up so that he could gaze up at her properly. "You did?" Hermione swore she heard his jaw click as he loosened it.

"Yes," she nodded. "She's okay."

Draco was up and out of his chair in one fluid movement. In another, he had wrapped both his arms around Hermione's waist and tugged her into a bone crushing hug. She registered his smell; expensive cologne and crisp linen mixed with something masculine she couldn't place.

"Thank you," he murmured into her hair.

Too stunned to reply, Hermione simply stood there as he continued to hold her against him. She was sure that the embrace went on far too long for it to be considered an act of simple gratitude, but she found that she didn't mind being in the arms of Draco Malfoy as much as she once would have. When he finally loosened his hold on her, Hermione felt a blush crawl up her cheeks. Looking up at him, she saw that Draco was wearing a similar colour on his cheek bones.

He cleared his throat and dug his hands into his trouser pockets. "How did you manage it?" Draco took another step back as if keen to put some distance between them.

Hermione ignored the clenching in her chest as he moved. "It was Blaise, actually," she said. Draco's eyebrows shot up towards his hair line. "He brought me the portkey on Monday morning."

"Oh," Draco replied.

"There's more that I need to tell you," Hermione licked her lips and shot a sideways glance towards the entrance of the sitting room. She missed the way Draco's eyes darkened at the brief movement of her tongue.

"Like what?" His voice was hard, though his pupils were still dilated.

"I saw Lucius." She met his gaze and held her ground.

"You what?" Draco's lips barely moved, his words leaving his mouth in a breathless whisper. His eyes had returned to stone cold grey, and by the way the material of his pants shifted Hermione guessed he had fisted his hands in his pockets.

"I had to," Hermione stated. "It was the only way to find the answer to the code."

Draco shook his head emphatically. "No," he said. "There's always another way. Please tell me he wouldn't help you. Please tell me you walked away without making a deal."

Hermione smiled weakly, though the gesture did not reach her eyes. "I had no choice, Draco."

"There's always another choice." His voice was still soft, but it held an icy edge. Hermione winced as he continued. "You of all people should know that."

"I didn't have a lot of time," Hermione rushed to explain. "Blaise turned up unannounced, threw the portkey at me and told me I had an hour. I ran on instincts; I stunned Ron…" she shrugged and trailed off.

Draco looked like he wanted to smile at that, but the corner of his mouth only twitched once before falling back into a hard line. "Your instincts steered you wrong this time, Granger."

Hermione huffed. "Well I know where to get the key to the code."

Draco ignored her. "What did you promise him?"

"I made a deal with him," she answered slowly. Hermione watched as Draco tensed. "I promised I would free him, too." She whispered the last sentence, but he recoiled as if she had shouted them.

"No," Draco growled.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione shook her head. "It's the only way to – "

"You don't understand!" He shouted. "He doesn't deserve freedom!"

"Maybe not," Hermione shot back. "But your mother does."

"So then focus on getting her out rather than making deals with the devil!"

"I did what I had to do!"

"Come off it," Draco scoffed. "You're smarter than that."

"Perhaps you're right," she conceded through gritted teeth. "I could have left without the information, and Lucius would be none the wiser to my role in Narcissa's case. But your mother will not last much longer," Draco inhaled sharply at her words, but Hermione continued as if she hadn't heard. "I did what I had to do to ensure that your mother won't breathe her last breath in a dank cell."

"You said she was okay."

"She will be, because of the deal I made with Lucius."

Draco was silent for a long time. He brought his hands up from out of his pockets and crossed them tightly across his chest. His expression looked as if he had never properly seen her before. She watched with baited breath as his chest rose and fell erratically in time with his breathing.

Several times she thought he was going to say something. She expected him to yell some more, perhaps stomp and rage and maybe even throw something. But he just stood there. Just as Hermione thought he might finally speak, Draco shot her one last look of fury before turning on his heel and stalking from the room.

Hermione exhaled heavily and slumped on to the couch, her head in her hands. She had known Draco would not take the news of Lucius well. She had run through all of his possible reactions so many times in the past week, but somehow it did not prepare her for the look of disappointment on his face.

In many ways, Hermione understood why he was unhappy about her decision to enter into a deal with Lucius. Draco's father was a manipulative, self-serving cockroach who would turn on his own family if it meant a better life for him. But it was frustrating that Draco couldn't see how Hermione's choice would help free Narcissa. They could worry about Lucius later.

_I just need a plan_ , she thought, her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

"I take it that didn't go well." Blaise appeared in the entrance, leaning casually against the wall.

Hermione tilted her head and regarded him closely. His gaze dipped to the front of his suit before flicking back up to meet hers. "What?"

"Zabini," she stood and walked over to him. He straightened as she stopped just before she hit his chest. "I have a plan."

 

 

 


	17. In Motion

 

Blaise Zabini was well known for his prowess with the ladies. There wasn’t a witch he couldn’t charm with a simple smile, and his reputation often preceded him in professional and personal settings. Nothing, however, had prepared him for a determined Hermione Granger. Sure, they had been at school together for six years, but he had never been on the receiving end of her attention, in class or otherwise.

He swallowed thickly as Hermione continued to appraise him, her head tilted to the side and her eyes narrowed. Her lips were pursed and he could practically hear the cogs whirring inside of her head.

“A plan?” His voice was slightly strangled; he did not like the way her eyes sparkled with mischief. She nodded and he cleared his throat. “What does it involve?”

She spoke quickly. “What would you say if I told you I have a plan that will see us all get what we want, but it involves you sleeping with Vivienne Weasley?”

Blaise wrinkled his nose. “Granger, I know I have a bit of a reputation, but all of that aside, I’m actually very picky about the witches I share my bed with.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Please, just hear me out?”

Blaise pressed his lips together and exhaled forcefully through his nose. “Fine,” he said as he pushed past her to sit in an armchair.  As he sat, he looked over at Hermione. “What did you have in mind?

Hermione moved to sit in the armchair opposite him. “Before I tell you,” she held up a hand, “I need to know; what happened during your meeting with Vivienne the other day?”

Blaise smirked. “Are you sure?”

Hermione gave him a stern look. “Blaise.”

“You’re no fun,” he teased. “It was actually very boring. She didn’t want to know about Draco at all; she just asked a lot of questions about me.”

“Did you answer them?”

“Granger,” Blaise scoffed. “Do I look like an idiot to you?” Hermione raised an eyebrow but Blaise ignored it. “I blackmailed her to have you reinstated all those months ago.” He paused to gauge her reaction, but if Hermione hadn’t known about his underhanded dealings she was very good at concealing her surprise. “I’m not in the business of giving scorned women ammunition to use against me.”

“Well that is good news,” Hermione said brusquely. “I picked up on her interest in you when she was here; I’m not sure if she sees you as a possible conquest, or whether she thinks that seducing you will further her agenda…either way, I don’t think it would be too difficult to get her in between the sheets.” Hermione waggled her eyebrows at Blaise and the wizard cringed.

“Never do that again,” he shook his head as if to clear himself of the image. “And of course it won’t be,” he gestured to himself.

“It’s definitely your modesty that makes you so attractive,” Hermione deadpanned.

“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Granger,” he quipped with a small smile. “Now tell me, what purpose does this serve for Draco and Narcissa?”

“The code is located in the underground vaults and only accessible to Ministry employees,” Blaise gestured for her to get to the part he didn’t know. “Now that Harry knows I want to get in there, access will probably have been further restricted to the higher ups; in short, I need Vivienne’s job.”

“Okay,” Blaise leant forward. “I sleep with her…how does that help?”

“We get proof,” Hermione grinned and Blaise’s eyes widened. “And we blackmail her, again. I doubt she would be happy for Ron to know that she cheated on him.”

“No offence, Granger,” Blaise frowned. “But why would Vivienne care about Weasley’s feelings?”

“Because she won’t want a scandal. She’s built a very careful reputation on being the girl next door. A divorce from one of the Golden Trio would mar her for life, especially if her infidelity is brought up.”

Blaise’s face did not give him away, but he was impressed by the Muggle-born witch. “Okay.” He extended his arm towards Hermione; she leaned forward and grasped his large hand in her much smaller one. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Hermione grinned. “Thank you, Zabini.”

“Please,” he shot her a winning smile. “Call me Blaise.”

“Blaise,” she smirked back at him and dropped his hand. “I really appreciate this.” She stood to leave. “Please let me know when you’ve got the proof.” She winked and stood, collecting her bag from the side of the couch.

“Of course.” He stood and slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “Oh, and Granger?”

Hermione stopped just as she reached the hall and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“Don’t worry about Draco,” he shrugged and offered her a small smile. “He’ll get over it.”

“Thanks,” she paused for just a second to quirk the corner of her mouth into the semblance of a sad smile, and then continued down the hallway and out of the front door.

 

As soon as Granger left, Blaise turned on his heel and marched up the stairs towards Draco’s study. He found his blond friend sitting at his desk nursing a glass of Firewhiskey. He was leaning back in his chair, his arm held straight out in front of him as if he had not a care in the world. Draco arched an eyebrow as Blaise burst in without knocking.

“You’re an idiot.” Blaise stated. Draco scowled and brought his drink to his lips, choosing to ignore the gripe. “After everything she’s done for you, you’re going to throw another tantrum?”

“You don’t understand.” Draco bit out. “Lucius is not someone to be messed with.”

“Has he contacted you recently?” Draco cursed Blaise’s businessman reflexes. Though his face remained neutral, Blaise was not fooled. “Draco,” he warned.

“Yes,” he admitted through clenched teeth. “He’s becoming more insistent.”

“Does he still think you’re helping him?”

Draco sneered. “Lucius has always known my position; I was only in contact with him for Mother.”

“And now?”

“He doesn’t deserve freedom,” Draco growled.

“And you think Granger is doing this for your father?”

Draco was silent for a long time before he dropped his gaze to his glass and sighed. “No,” he admitted. “But I’m still furious; she shouldn’t have gone to see him.”

“She went on your mother’s orders,” Blaise shrugged and sat in the chair opposite Draco’s. “And I feel like this is partially my fault; I did accost her in her apartment without warning. I didn’t exactly tell her  _not_  to see Lucius.”

Draco groaned, a low frustrated note. “I’m not mad at her,” he shook his head. “I’m slightly pissed at you,” he stared pointedly at Blaise, who offered him an unapologetic grin in return. Another pause; “but not her.” His voice had softened considerably, and Blaise fought the urge to jump up from his seat and scream at the blond wizard what was painfully to obvious to anyone but him.

“You need to apologise,” he said firmly. “Granger is working her arse off for you and your mother, regardless of the fact that your father has become involved in the process. It’s a minor detail we can figure out later.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaise leant forward and cupped a hand around his ear. “Can you repeat that, I didn’t quite catch it.”

“Sod off, prat.” Draco murmured around another sip of his drink.

Blaise grinned and lifted himself from his chair. Draco looked up at him and then nodded towards the bottle of Ogden’s in the middle of his desk. “Feel free to pour yourself a glass.”

Blaise shook his head. “No thanks,” he moved so that he could clap Draco on the shoulder. “I have a date.” He began to retreat from the room backwards.

“With who?”

“Your future,” he winked conspiratorially and Draco rolled his eyes. “Call Granger and grovel!” He shouted as he disappeared around the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” Draco whispered before gulping back the remainder of his glass.

 

Hermione was curled up in her lone armchair by the empty fireplace. She was lost in one of the heavy tomes she had loaned from Draco’s library; a volume on legal practices that was so old, it had been written on rag.

She was so absorbed in her reading that the swish of large wings and an insistent peck at the window did not rouse her straight away. It wasn’t until the bird gave an impatient shriek that Hermione started and looked up.

Malfoy’s owl was unmistakeable as it perched regally on the sliver of windowsill outside of her kitchen. She frowned as she rose slowly from her chair and went to retrieve the elegant scroll from its beak. Ruffling its feathers, the bird strutted into the kitchen and sat staring pointedly on the edge of her kitchen bench. Hermione eyed it warily for a second.  _Clearly he wants a response,_  she thought, her fingers gliding over the purple ribbon and successfully untying it.

_Granger,_

_Miksy would like to request your presence at the Manor tomorrow night. I’ve tried telling her that you’re an extremely important witch with a schedule that doesn’t allow for such trivialities as dinner with me, but she’s insistent._

_Please send your response via return owl. I understand if you can’t make it, but Miksy will be devastated; just saying._

_Best,_

_D.M._

_P.S. I’m sorry for being a prat earlier_

Hermione read through the letter three times, unsure of whether she wanted to squeal like a teenage girl in a terrible Muggle movie, or set the parchment on fire and curse the sender to Hades. With an exasperated groan, Hermione dropped the parchment on to the counter. Harry’s words played on repeat in her mind:

_“You’re falling for him.”_

“I am not falling for Draco Malfoy.” Hermione said aloud. The words bounced around her kitchen, sounding foreign to her own ears. She swallowed thickly and ignored the nagging voice inside her head. “And to prove it…” her volume increased as she stomped into her study and retrieved a piece of parchment and a quill. With a flourish, she penned her response.

_Malfoy,_

_I accept your invitation – only for Miksy, of course._

_Tell her I’ll see her tomorrow at 6pm._

_Hermione_

“There,” she said triumphantly as she attached the scroll to the leg of Malfoy’s owl. “I’ll go to dinner tomorrow night and at the end of the evening there will be no doubt that I don’t like Malfoy…like that, anyway.” She looked down at Crookshanks who had wandered over at the sound of her musings. “Right, Crooks?” She bent to scratch him behind the ears. He allowed it, but not before he gave her a look that said, ‘not likely.’

 

The next night, Hermione arrived at the Manor fifteen minutes early. She had been telling herself all day that this definitely wasn’t a date, and that she did not care about what she looked like or whether there would be a lull in the conversation…

To prove this, she chose a simple pair of dark blue jeans and a silk red blouse. She left her hair down and applied no makeup; she did not prepare her usual list of talking points. This was simply dinner between a lawyer and her client during which the client would apologise for being such a prat for the past…well, forever, really.

She shrugged her shoulders as she mounted the front steps, as if she could shake the feeling of excited anticipation from her body.  _It’s just dinner,_  she reminded herself firmly.  _You’ll eat, and then leave. Nothing else will happen._ She repeated this as a mantra as she stepped forward and knocked on the solid front door.

“Coming!” Hermione heard Draco’s voice from a distance, and then hurried footsteps as he made his way towards her. “Hello,” he greeted her solemnly as he opened the door. “Come in.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replied stiffly before brushing past him. She glanced around, unsure of where she should be looking. “Where’s Blaise?” She blurted out before she could stop herself.

Draco’s eyes tightened, but he answered in a reasonably calm voice. “He’s out.”

“Oh.”

_This is off to a brilliant start,_  Hermione thought sarcastically.

Thankfully, Miksy chose that moment to appear between them, a small flowery apron wrapped over her Malfoy-embossed pillow case.

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour!” She squeaked, eyeing them both with unbridled excitement. “Master Draco, sir, I have set up wine in the upstairs sitting room!”

“Thank you, Miksy.” Draco murmured. He glanced furtively at Hermione as the little elf skipped down the hallway and disappeared towards the kitchens. “Shall we?”

They remained silent until Draco led Hermione into the sitting room. It was brilliantly lit with floating candles, and a spread of cheese and crackers lay on the coffee table. A decanter full of red wine stood next to the platter alongside two crystal goblets.

“Wine?” Draco’s tone was that of a well-raised aristocrat, but his face was still pinched into a frown.

“Yes, please.” Hermione settled herself on the couch.

Draco poured two glasses and offered one to Hermione before he took a seat next to her. “Cheers,” he murmured, raising the glass aloft briefly before bringing it to his lips. Hermione mimicked his movements.

“So,” she started, nerves evident in her voice. “Miksy wanted to see me?”

Draco’s mouth twitched and for a moment, Hermione could have sworn he was about to smile. “Yes,” he said slowly. “She has been missing you lately.”

“Really?” Hermione arched an eyebrow.

Draco took another sip of wine and nodded slowly. “She knows how hard you’re working on my mother’s case, and she is very grateful for the sacrifices you’ve made over the years…” he trailed off at the look on her face. “What?”

“Miksy is grateful for the work I’ve been doing?” She gave him a meaningful look, but Draco’s expression did not change.

“Yes,” he looked into his glass as if it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. “She is.”

Hermione’s heart beat a strong rhythm against her rib cage. Was he seriously using his elf to express his own feelings?

“Draco,” she began slowly, her tongue darting out over her lips to catch the remnants of wine. “I know you’re upset about Lucius…” she trailed off as he held up a hand to stop her.

“What you have to understand,” he placed his glass on the coffee table and then looked up at her, piercing grey irises willing her to empathise, “is that Lucius will not rest until he has made us miserable.”

“Us? You mean you and your mother.”

“No,” Draco smiled grimly, “I mean you and I.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “You and I? What could he possibly do to either of us?”

“You’d be surprised,” he replied darkly. The intensity of his gaze had her fighting the urge to look away. “He will be especially keen to make my life a living hell.”

“But the letters he sent you; he cares about you.”

Draco laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound. “No, he doesn’t.” He dropped his gaze and twisted his fingers together in his lap. “He is a very good actor; he’s not stupid enough to think that the Ministry would not be intercepting mail. If he’s going to record himself saying something, he makes sure it makes him look innocent; or at least redeemed.”

“He seems to care for your mother,” Hermione offered, suddenly desperate to see Draco smile or smirk; the dejected look he was currently sporting was tugging at her heart.

“He does,” Draco agreed. “Mother is the only one for whom Lucius cares. “But,” he heaved a huge sigh, “even then, he does not love her more than he loves himself.” He dragged his gaze back up to hers, and relished in the way her eyes tightened and her jaw set in obvious anger on his behalf.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted, having Lucius return home – “

“What I want is my mother home safely,” Draco’s eyes had taken on a hard quality. “If you have to release Lucius to make that happen, then so be it.”

Hermione blinked several times in quick succession. She opened her mouth to say something, but Miksy reappeared to invite them to the dining table.

Hermione followed behind Draco, noting the way his back muscles rippled under his freshly ironed shirt; he had filled out considerably since his return. She entered the dining room with a faint flush on her cheeks at the thought of admiring Draco Malfoy’s body, but she couldn’t help noticing that he was an extremely handsome wizard…when he wasn’t sneering at her, that is.

He surprised her by waiting behind one of the place settings and pulling her chair out as she came to sit down.

“Thank you,” she murmured, the pink spots on her cheeks deepening. He offered her a polite smile before taking a seat across from her.

“Here you is, Sir and Miss!” Miksy squeaked as she re-entered the room. A large roast dinner appeared between them on the wooden table, and Hermione’s eyes grew wide; all of this for two people?

“Thank you, Miksy,” Draco said before gesturing for Hermione to start serving herself. She began to pile meat on to her plate, followed by potatoes.

“Miksy is so glad you is here, Miss!” The little elf had appeared at Hermione’s elbow, her orb-like eyes glowing with happiness.

“Er –“ Hermione stuttered as she finished helping herself to gravy. She chanced a glance at Draco, but he was busying himself with the serving tongs. “I’m very glad to be here too.”

Miksy beamed, clasping her hands in front of herself before bowing low and disapparating away.

“I told you,” Draco shrugged as Hermione arched an eyebrow at him.

The rest of the meal was spent in companionable silence, interspersed with pockets of casual conversation. Hermione was beginning to think that perhaps she had read too much into the invitation; maybe it really was all Miksy’s idea, and Draco had just added the post script to his letter as an afterthought.

When he had spoken of Miksy earlier, a part of her had thought that he had been using the elf as a substitute for himself. Hermione found that she wanted him to miss her, even if she could not admit it. That hope was quickly evaporating as he told her of his plans for the future; running the Malfoy business, purchasing an apartment in London, and travelling the world. Disappointment curled in her gut as the realisation that she wanted to be apart of Draco Malfoy’s future hit her like a bludger in the face.

“I want to make a name for myself,” he was saying as she fought the urge to stand abruptly and run back to her apartment. “I don’t want to be marred by my last name.”

“Nor should you be,” she responded in a calm voice – far calmer than she felt – and set her knife and fork on her plate. Of course he would achieve his goals; why wouldn’t he? She only wished that she would be there to watch him succeed. Despite being overwhelmed with the feeling of disappointment and the shock of the sudden realisation that she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to Draco, Hermione schooled her features into a politely interested expression.

Draco smiled back at her, but quickly frowned; he wasn’t buying the cool façade. “Are you okay?” He queried, cocking his head to the side. “You’ve been almost silent all night; I can’t remember the last time Hermione Granger didn’t have something to say.”

“I’m fine,” she replied, forcing her mouth into a smile. “I’m enjoying listening, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” he pursed his lips and then stood suddenly from the table. “Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested, offering his hand.

Hermione glanced at it as if it might bite her if she touched it. Draco withdrew his hand quickly as he caught her expression. He cleared his throat, a flush staining the tips of his cheek bones. “Sorry,” he grimaced. “Old habits die hard.”

Hermione supposed he was referring to aristocratic etiquette but chose not to comment as she stood and stepped towards him. “No, I’m sorry.” Bravely, she reached for his hand and clasped it in hers. “Lead the way.”

Draco glanced at their hands, hanging intertwined between them, and then back up to Hermione’s face. She offered him a small smile as he gazed at her with stormy eyes. For a moment, she thought he might close the distance between them, or tug her into his chest; she certainly felt his hand twist in hers…But then he turned slowly and indicated with his free hand that she should follow him. He led her down several corridors lined with life-sized portraits of Malfoy ancestors. A few shot her glares of loathing, but most were either sleeping or too absorbed in their own activities to notice a Muggle-born in their midst.

Finally, they reached a set of glass doors which led on to a large courtyard. Draco dropped her hand to open them, and Hermione noticed a stirring of dismay at the loss of contact. She followed him into the night and inhaled sharply at the beauty that surrounded her. The ground was set with cobblestone, lined by perfect green hedges. Beyond the hedges were large trees with wispy branches, and blooms of flowers in reds, pinks, and whites.

Hermione wandered into the centre of the space and began to turn on the spot, her face raised to the sky to take in the twinkling fairies that fluttered daintily from hedge to hedge above their heads.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered as she twirled.

“It is,” Draco replied softly, his gaze fixed on the witch before him. He took two steps forward, but kept a safe distance between them. He knew that it would probably scare her away at this point, but watching her face alight with wonder had ignited a blazing warmth in his chest, and he feared if he did not let a little bit out, he might burst.

He took another step forward, her first name on the tip of his tongue when…

“Hello!” The glass doors opened with a loud clatter and Blaise strode towards them, a slight spring in his step. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

Draco opened his mouth to tell him that he was, in fact, interrupting, but Hermione beat him to it; “No, not at all!” She grinned at the Italian and Draco felt the heat that seconds ago had burned in his chest as if it might cook him from the inside out, solidify into an unforgiving block of ice.

“Brilliant!” The Italian crossed the courtyard and rubbed his hands together excitedly.

“What do you want, Blaise?” Draco asked through gritted teeth, his gaze still trained on Hermione who was looking between the two men with mild bemusement.

“Actually,” Blaise came to stand beside the pair of them, “I need to speak to Granger.” His eyes flitted from Draco’s face and landed on Hermione. She looked over at Draco who was staring at Blaise as if he meant to set his head on fire.

“Um, sure…” she trailed off, as if expecting him to say something. Draco simply shrugged and swallowed the ire that threatened to escape his throat. He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets as Blaise slung an arm around Hermione’s shoulder and steered her towards the doors. “Thanks for dinner, Draco.” Hermione threw over her shoulder. “Please pass on my gratitude to Miksy.”

As they reached the exit, Blaise turned to take in Draco’s expression. He smirked as he caught the look on the blond’s face _; if looks could kill_ , he thought wryly,  _I’d be the poster boy for the new killing curse._


	18. Revenge Is A Dish...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Blaise continue to plot without Draco’s knowledge in order to bring Vivienne down, and get Hermione back into the Ministry. Draco works up the courage to tell Hermione he thinks he has developed feelings for her...but is once again interrupted by his best friend. Revenge is a dish...best served to those with weak enamel - cold and painful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my alpha/beta Littlered1992 – this chapter needed a complete rewrite and she was an actual champion supporting me to get it done.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :D xx

 

"Sorry to drag you away from your date," Blaise said quietly as they reached the front doors.

"Oh," Hermione felt her cheeks heat, "no…it wasn't a date…" she trailed off at the look on Blaise's face.

He looked like he wanted to argue with her but seemed to think better of it. "I met with Vivienne last night," he said, glancing over his shoulder as though he was expecting to be interrupted.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And the plan is in motion," he grinned and Hermione felt herself recoil slightly at the implication in his eyes. "If I'd have wanted to sleep with her it would have only been too easy, but I like to play with my food first."

"Gross," Hermione's face contorted in disgust, "but good; I can't wait to see her go down."

"Neither can I," Blaise winked and Hermione feared the beautiful dinner Miksy had cooked may make another appearance.

"Sweet Circe, you are one disgusting human being."

His grin widened impossibly, all of his pearly white teeth on display. "I interrupted," he continued, lowering his voice, "because I wanted to tell you that I've arranged to see her tomorrow night. I'll take her back to a hotel room after dinner and seal the deal." His hand moved to the pocket inside his suit jacket and pulled out a thin business card. "Here," he held it out to her. "It's the address and room number; you should come by at ten o'clock. I'll have a key owled to – " He trailed off at the look on Hermione's face. "…or not?"

"Forgive me for not wanting to make it a threesome," she folded her arms tightly across her chest and averted her gaze.

"What an intriguing idea, Granger." Blaise purred.

"Get your head out of the gutter, Zabini," Hermione snapped. "I've already walked in on that woman writhing about naked with a man that wasn't hers to begin with, and once was more than enough – believe me. Doing it intentionally is the last thing I want." She hesitated and then brought her gaze back to Blaise, who was regarding her with something akin to pity. It made her stomach turn. "Is there another way?"

"Fine," Blaise rolled his eyes, feigning disappointment. "But I still think your threesome idea would be much more fun."

Hermione glared at him, and he grinned back. "You need serious help," she said flatly. "I'll look for your owl?" He nodded. "Excellent."

They stood looking at each other for a long moment, before Blaise tilted his head to the side and adopted a would-be-casual tone. "At the risk of being completely obvious, Granger," he said, "are you and Draco friends again?"

Hermione frowned at the change of topic. "I think so," she said slowly, "although I feel like I might have whiplash, the way he runs hot and cold all the time."

Blaise nodded sagely. "He can be difficult to work out sometimes."

There was a pause, and then before she could stop herself, Hermione blurted out; "I get the feeling that he likes me, as in  _that way_ , but then I think I must be completely mental to believe it…" She bit her lip as she met his gaze; his expression was blank. "Do you know anything?"

He offered her a shrug. "Do you like him in  _that way_?"

"I – " Hermione paused, her mouth open; did she? And was she ready to admit it out loud, in front of Blaise? " – don't know." She finished lamely.

Blaise pursed his lips. His eyes glowed hot as he stepped forward to open the door for her. The night air whipped into the foyer and Hermione shivered as it swept her hair from her neck. "You're a smart woman, Granger," he said simply. "You'll figure it out."

Sensing that that was her cue to leave, Hermione bit down on the retort she longed to throw at Blaise. He was being deliberately obtuse, no better than the blond wizard who currently had her in knots…only she needed Blaise for the next phase of her plan; she would have to hold in her desire to smack him until she had undermined Vivienne at the Ministry.

"Thank you," she said stiffly as she crossed the threshold. "Goodnight."

"Ciao," Blaise smiled genuinely before clicking the door shut.

No sooner had the sound of Hermione's footsteps disappeared, Draco stormed into the foyer. His grey eyes flashed with unbridled anger as he came to stand in front of Blaise.

"Fuck you, Zabini!"

"Whoa!" Blaise held both hands up in a sign of surrender. "What did I do?"

"You said you wouldn't be home until the morning!"

"Oh yeah," Blaise grimaced as guilt flickered in his dark eyes. "Turns out Daphne isn't as willing as she once was." Draco screwed up his face in disgust. "Did you tell Hermione you have feelings for her?"

"I was about to, before you interrupted us!"

Blaise at least looked apologetic. "Sorry about that, mate."

Draco puffed out his cheeks and exhaled noisily. "Doesn't matter," he bit out. "I only would have made a prat of myself."

"What are you talking about?"

Draco laughed, a dark and humourless rumble which echoed around the room. "It's pretty obvious that she has a thing for you."

"Me?" Blaise spluttered. "You're insane."

"It's true," Draco shrugged, a rueful look gracing his features. "You were the first thing she asked about tonight and she didn't exactly protest when you swept her away from me just then." He placed his hands on his hips and began to pace.

The Italian wizard was silent for a few long minutes. When Draco finally raised his head to offer his friend a look of forlorn, Blaise was glaring at him with his mouth slightly ajar.

"What kind of fucked up potion have you been huffing, you complete and utter moron?"

"Excuse me?" Draco glowered. "It's me who should be calling you names, not the other way around."

"Are you kidding? Granger is as hopelessly giddy about you as you are of her; it makes me feel physically ill, the way you two look at each other. I swear to Merlin, if the tension between the pair of you gets any thicker, I'm going to have to start carrying a fucking sword just to enter rooms safely." His brown eyes flashed dangerously as he took a step forward and loomed over Draco.

"And I'm the one huffing potions?" Draco sneered, his grey eyes cold.

Blaise made a noise halfway between a laugh and a grunt and stood straight, his gaze still locked on to the blond's. "If you are honestly stupid enough to not see that Granger is into you, then I'm not going to waste my time trying to convince you otherwise. Goodnight."

He nodded curtly at the shocked blond and swept from the room.

* * *

On Monday morning, the day after Blaise and Vivienne's clandestine date was due to take place, Hermione rose with a new plan. She had spent the night mulling over Blaise's words:

_"You're a smart witch, Granger. You'll figure it out."_

She had never been particularly good when it came to talking about or expressing feelings, though her friends would probably argue she was far too adept at expressing anger. Hermione was comfortable with books and logic; things that could be explained with something tangible or reasonable; emotions were just too subjective and individual for her compartmentalised brain.

Rather than face the issue of her fiancé's infidelity, she had thrown herself into work; instead of confronting Harry about his behaviour a few weeks ago, she hung out with Malfoy. And therein, she figured, lay her problem. Amidst running from the emotional issues with past lovers and friends, she had tangled a web of feelings where the blond wizard was concerned, and she had no idea how to begin unknotting herself.

It wasn't as if she was in love with him – Merlin! She wouldn't even go so far as to call it a crush. But there was something there, something that was beginning to stir in her gut like an animal coming out of hibernation. Ignoring it did no good; it just became more insistent, gnawing on her insides and addling her senses.

Reducing the puzzle of Blaise's comment to logic would not work; if she wanted answers, she knew she would have to go directly to the source. Without bothering to owl ahead, Hermione showered and dressed, and then Floo'd over to Malfoy Manor.

She arrived in the grate of the sitting room, and found the reason for her broken night of sleep lounging on the couch. He was wearing a pair of reading glasses, his left foot resting on his right knee, and he had a paperback novel in his hands. He glanced up as she entered.

"Granger?" He closed the book, keeping his thumb between the pages to mark his spot. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione felt her mouth go dry as he gazed at her from behind the reflective lenses.  _Since when does Malfoy wear glasses? They look good – STOP IT!_  Hermione felt her cheeks heat as she stepped out of the fireplace.

"It's lovely to see you too, Malfoy." She adopted a haughty tone that fell only slightly flat and moved to perch in an armchair. "I came to see you."

"Me?"

"No," she deadpanned, grateful that his apparent shock gave her the opportunity to stabilise her heart rate again, "the other you."

Draco rolled his eyes. "What can I help you with? Is it something to do with the case?"

"Not exactly," she said slowly…damn her heart and its determination to escape her ribcage.

Hermione had thought about what she was going to say; she had memorised a speech last night as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling. But now that she was here, and his silver irises were meddling with her ability to form a coherent thought; this was not like her…and she was not pleased.

"I actually wanted to talk about you and I," she forced herself to say; her cheeks burned further and she wondered desperately if a spell had been invented to prevent such obvious displays of embarrassment.

"Have I done something to upset you?" Draco asked, his brow furrowing as he mulled over her words. "I thought my inviting you to dinner on Saturday was an obvious way of apologising for my behaviour last Friday; I – "

"Your invitation?" Hermione queried, her stomach flipping at the implication of his words. "I thought that it was Miksy's invitation." Her voice had a sly edge, and she was pleased to note the flush as it appeared on Draco's cheeks.

"You know what I mean, Granger." He muttered, averting his gaze.

"It's not something you've done," she assured him. "I was just laying in bed last night, and I got to thinking about something Blaise had said to me earlier." She attempted to keep her tone neutral and pleasant.

"Oh?"

She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze to her lap, his intense eyes too much for her to handle under such circumstances.

"It's just that, I don't really know where – oh!" A sharp rapping noise sounded from behind her and Hermione jumped. Twisting in her seat she could make out the shadow of a small animal on the other side of the window, the curtain blocking a direct view.

"It's probably a business letter for Blaise," Draco placed his book to the side and stood with a frustrated sigh. "Though I have no idea why it wouldn't just deliver it directly to him."

Hermione watched as Draco opened the window and held aside the curtain so that the bird could fly into the room. The blond reached out with his free hand, expecting the bird to pass on the letter to him; it was definitely Blaise's tawny owl, Khonsu. Exasperated, Draco followed the owl's path, but then stopped suddenly in his track as Khonsu landed on the arm of Hermione's chair.

He could tell by the look on her face that she had not been expecting a delivery, but the gaudy red bow sitting gingerly on a small ornate box had caused a rock to settle in his abdomen. As Hermione gingerly reached for the box, Draco could see her expression change from one of shock to unbridled excitement.

"Yes!" She squealed, cradling the box in both of her hands. She glanced up at him, her eyes shining, and he forced himself to swallow thickly against the torrent of emotion threatening to pour from his throat.

_So this is why she came to see me,_  he thought bitterly as she offered him an unenthusiastic apology and disappeared back into the green flames of the Floo,  _so she could tell me that something is blossoming between her and Blaise…figures_. He narrowed his eyes and snatched at the book again, turning on his heel to retire in his room for the rest of the day.

* * *

Landing back in her living room, Hermione headed straight for the couch and sat down, still mesmerised by the package in her hands. She pulled at the bow and let it slip through her fingers to the floor, busying herself with opening the rectangular box. Lifting the lid, her first reaction was triumph followed quickly by disgust.

She stamped down on that feeling though, and forced herself to pick up the photographs; the proof she had been waiting for. Blaise had sent her five moving images, each depicting a less than classy act which clearly demonstrated Vivienne's gross infidelity.

"Sweet Circe," Hermione blanched as she looked down at the photos. "You are one disgusting human, Blaise." As she went to return them to the box, Hermione noticed a small square of white parchment folded neatly at the bottom.

_I hope these will suffice. If you require a moving image stream, please let me know._

Hermione noted that Blaise had not mentioned either of their names in the letter, and was pleased that he had the foresight to think about the possible implications if such a package was left in the wrong hands. Her grin spread wider; the plan had worked, and she was that much closer to reuniting the Malfoy family.

She thought of the blond man that had wormed his way so easily into her life without realising it. The past few months had been spent doing nothing but working towards the goal of releasing Narcissa and ensuring Draco would not be sent back to Azkaban. When she had quit her job, she had spent more days at the Manor in the library with her client than anywhere else.

Such a whirlwind of events had not given Hermione any time to reflect on the way Draco had become something more to her than just another client; she considered him her friend. Granted, he was still prickly and often rude, but she could not label it any other way – they were friends. She squirmed as she placed the lid back on the box and bent to retrieve the bow from the floor.

_Just friends,_  she repeated to herself as a pair of grey eyes swirling like thunder clouds, taunting her as if they held an enticing Arithmancy problem, the answer just out of her reach.  _Harry was wrong, you proved that the other night…._

But had she?

Hermione huffed and forced herself to stand, the box now clutched in her left hand, the bow still hanging limply from her right. She moved quickly to the study, pushing all thoughts of Draco Malfoy to the back of her mind.

"Your primary focus now," she commanded herself, "is to make copies and get to Vivienne." She nodded once, as if she was acknowledging the order she had given herself, and then set to work.

As she straightened a quarter of an hour later, she looked down at her work with a tight smile. The photographs were not easy to copy, as they were magical and moving, but Hermione had done a good enough job that she was sure that Vivienne would react the way Hermione hoped.

Unbidden, Draco once again resurfaced at the forefront of her mind, his mouth wide in a charming, unreserved smile as Hermione imagined telling him that she was one step closer to releasing his mother. She thought about the way his eyes would crinkle at the corner, the liquid silver orbs dancing with happiness that she had brought to them…

_And I'm back to thinking of his eyes…_ she thought, exasperation twisting in her stomach.

* * *

Hermione checked her purse for the envelope of photographs for what felt like the umpteenth time; they were still there. She grinned to herself as she shifted in her seat, tugging at her pencil skirt.

"Granger," Vivienne's bored tone floated from inside the office and Hermione stood, her heart beating a staccato against her ribcage.

"Good afternoon, Vivienne," Hermione said brightly.

"What do you want?"

Hermione kicked the door shut behind her. "I think it's best if we're not interrupted during this little chat."

"What could you possibly have to say to me that would require a closed door?" The witch did not look up from her paperwork.

"I know you slept with Blaise."

Vivienne's head snapped up at that and Hermione smirked at the look of shock plastered on her face. "How do you know?"

"If I told you I orchestrated the whole thing, I have the feeling you wouldn't believe me…" Hermione's smirk widened, and she stepped closer to the desk.

"What do you want?" Vivienne's mask was back in place, but her voice betrayed her fear.

"Your job." Hermione stated simply.

Vivienne's lips twitched and she leaned back in her chair. "Why would I give up my job just because you know I slept with Blaise?"

"Because," Hermione rummaged in her purse and slapped the envelope down onto the desk, "I have proof."

Vivienne stretched out a trembling hand and pinched the envelope between thumb and forefinger. She dragged the stationery towards her and then gingerly pulled each of the moving photographs from the sheaf. She glanced up at Hermione, her face drained of colour.

"You know this is illegal, right?" Her voice was strangled. "Taking photos of someone against their will and then using them to get what you want is extortion."

Hermione shrugged, an expression of nonchalance hiding her true feelings of pure terror. Though she had longed to take Vivienne down for years, it was taking all of her Gryffindor courage to remain in the office. She knew that the blonde witch was getting what she deserved; but she also knew that Blaise was risking his reputation personally and professionally by helping her with this stunt.

"I feel like that would quickly be labelled a he-said-she-said case, Vivienne," her voice was low. "Are you prepared to run the risk of a very public trial, the context of which would require you to tell Ronald about your infidelity?"

Vivienne met her gaze and licked her lips. She was silent for a few long minutes, and Hermione feared that the blonde witch would hear the thudding of heart as it rebelled against her ribcage.

"What am I supposed to tell Dewsong?" Vivienne finally said.

"It's simple," Hermione shrugged. "You're pregnant," Vivienne's eyes widened and Hermione amended; "That's what you tell Dewsong. You're leaving to raise a child with Ron, and you would like for me to take the position."

Vivienne scoffed. "And what makes you think Dewsong will buy that, first of all, and follow my orders second?"

"Because you're a very good actor, Vivienne. Make it believable. Perhaps pregnancy had readjusted your values; maybe Ron has asked a favour…just convince him."

"If I do this…" Vivienne started, "what do I get in return?"

"My silence."

"And Zabini?"

"Oh, I can't speak for him," Hermione grinned wickedly as Vivienne's face drained of colour. "I guess you will have to strike up another deal with Blaise."

Vivienne was silent for a long time. The two witches faced each other, both wearing identical masks of polite disinterest. Vivienne cracked first.

"Fine," she spat. "I'll do what you want. But you do not breathe a word of this to  _anyone;_  not Potter or his wife, not Pansy, not the Weasleys…and especially not Ron."

"Deal," Hermione extended her hand slowly and waited for Vivienne to take it. The witch stood and eyed her with unbridled loathing.

"Deal," Vivienne accepted her hand and shook it briefly. "I will go to Dewsong today. Expect my owl."

Her voice was tight and Hermione swore there were actual tears forming in the corner of her eyes. Being a naturally empathetic person, Hermione knew she should feel slightly bad for Vivienne's position, but in that moment with the prospect of her goal finally being realised, she could not bring herself to care.

"Ciao," Hermione waved obnoxiously as she exited the office.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Hermione sat on the floor of her study surrounded by books and sheets of parchment. As she was sorting through the mess, a barn owl arrived at her window and pecked rapidly on the glass.

She jumped up immediately and hurried to let the bird in. Once the letter had been removed from its beak, the owl hooted once and then left through the open window. Hermione paid no attention to the bird's departure, too focused on opening the envelope and scanning the contents. She had half expected wart cap powder or something equally awful to lace the inside of the envelope, but there was only a neatly folded letter.

_It is done._

Hermione flipped it over; there was nothing else written on the paper. She used her wand to reveal invisible ink, but the parchment remained unchanged. She shrugged and allowed a victorious grin to cross her face.

She had done it. Now the only thing standing in her way was the archives, and that was going to be overcome as soon as Dewsong contacted her with an offer.

She did not have to wait long. Less than half an hour after Vivienne's owl, Hermione's Floo sounded. With a  _pop!_  Dustin Dewsong's head appeared in the emerald flames.

"Granger!" He barked.

"Yes, sir?" Hermione bit back a triumphant smirk.

"Report to my office first thing tomorrow morning; it appears that I need a new Head of Case Management."

With a sneer, his head disappeared and Hermione allowed her mouth to break into a wide grin. Standing, she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet and moving her hands about in a display of unbridled excitement; the plan was all coming together.

* * *

That evening, at Malfoy Manor, Blaise and Draco remained unaware of Hermione's triumph. After a silent dinner, they retired to Draco's study and opened a fresh bottle of Firewhiskey. Draco drank deeply from his tumbler, and Blaise watched with mild concern.

It was not in his nature to be outwardly sympathetic or caring, but he was beginning to think that he might have to show some tough love to his obstinate friend.

"Looking at Granger, you wouldn't think she was once that bushy-haired bookworm from Hogwarts," he sipped his drink, his eyes intent on Draco's face; there was no change in his expression so Blaise continued. "She's grown into her figure, for one thing."

Draco made a non-committal noise and poured himself more whiskey. Blaise frowned; it was not like the blond wizard to go quite so hard on the bottle.

"Those jeans she was wearing last night," He shook his head and whistled through pursed lips. "Watching her leave; I was as hard as a rock."

Draco growled. "So help me, Zabini," he said, his voice tense, "if you ever mention your arousal and Hermione in the same sentence again, I will hex you until it falls off and crawls away."

Blaise only smirked, unperturbed by his friend's threat. " _Hermione_ , is it?"

"Shut up," the blond reached out a hand and smacked Blaise on the back of the head.

"Ow!" Blaise glared pointedly, running a hand over the place Draco had whacked him. "You should tell her you like her."

Draco scoffed. "I don't though. At least, not really. I've been reflecting a lot, since she came to see me this morning and…" he paused for a moment and squinted into the naked fireplace, "…I think I'm going to leave it for a while; focus on Mother's case…"

"Coward," Blaise scowled.

Draco shrugged and leaned back in his recliner, hooking his fingers into the handle that released the foot rest. "Honestly Blaise, jumping in to something with her now would be a mistake."

"Oh?" Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"I'm still under house arrest – "

"For a fortnight," Blaise interjected.

"And," Draco glowered but continued as if he had not heard the interruption, "I don't know what it's like to be free; not really. Not to mention, I haven't dated in years; I haven't seen a witch except for Granger and Pansy – oh, and the Medi-witch – since Hogwarts."

"So," Blaise licked his lips after downing the contents of his glass in one go, "what you're trying to say is that you think you might find someone better than Granger when you get out of here?" He gestured around him.

"What? No, that's not what I meant!"

"Good," Blaise deadpanned as he poured himself another drink. "Because that would be fucking stupid."

"Thank you, Cassanova," Draco shot back. "I'm not saying that I won't eventually try with Granger; just that I want to be sure before I drag her into my shit."

Blaise was silent for a long moment, his face expressionless as he raised and lowered his glass in time with his sips. "Okay," he finally said, "I think I get it."

"Finally!"

"You're a fucking coward."

Draco threw his hands up in frustration and flipped the foot rest back into the recliner. "Maybe I am," he agreed as he stood. "But I'd rather be a coward than a fool."

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room, the Firewhiskey bottle clutched fiercely in his right hand.

"Goodnight," Blaise deadpanned as Draco swept around the corner. There was no reply from the blond.


	19. ...Best Served Cold

The lanyard hung heavily around her neck, her employee card slapping against her stomach. Hermione looked both ways down the corridor before determining that it was clear. She moved quickly towards the metal doors and presented the slip of plastic; access was granted and she checked once more to ensure she had not been followed before entering the pitch-black corridor.

As before, the lanterns flickered overhead once the doors had shut behind her. She watched as her breath rose in front of her in a puff of translucent steam. Locating the correct door, Hermione allowed the feeling of excitement to well up inside her as it opened.

At first glance, it looked like she had opened the door to an oddly stacked store room. There were innumerable boxes staked on top of one another in the small space, as well as loose sheafs of parchment, several oddly shaped pieces of glassware, and what looked like a large globe of the world perched on top of the pile.

Hermione puffed her cheeks out, raking her gaze over the impossibly packed storage cupboard. Exhaling slowly through pursed lips, she stepped forward and raised a hand to a box; then she hesitated. It couldn’t hurt to use a simple _accio_ first, given the amount of time and definite mess it would take to locate the answers Lucius had promised.

She gripped her wand in her right hand and whispered the spell. To her surprise, a shoebox-sized parcel zoomed out of the pile and landed against her chest with a dull thud. Hermione, never having been one for sports in either the Muggle or Magical worlds, fumbled as she wrapped her arms ungracefully around it.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, blowing a stray curl from her face as she straightened up. She glanced around again, locked the cupboard, and then turned on her heel to retrace her steps back to her office.

She was stopped before she reached the double metal doors.

“I wondered how long it would take you,” Harry’s voice was low, and laced with disdain.

Hermione jumped in fright at the sudden intrusion, but recovered quickly. “Good morning, Potter.” She supplied dryly.

A twitch of his mouth was the only indication that he had registered the use of his surname. His eyes narrowed as they landed on the package in her arms. Hermione gripped it tighter, lest he reach out and take it from her.

“Using your current position to further your own gains is despicable, Hermione.”

“But it was okay for you to do it?” Hermione spat back.

“That was different! I was helping the wizarding world get back on its feet after a terrible tragedy!”

“It’s no different to what I’m doing; the Malfoys deserve their freedom, Harry. You cannot convince me otherwise.”

“I’m not stupid enough to think I could.” His hands fisted at his side. “All I’m saying is that you’ve only been here a day, and you’re already down here as if nothing else matters.”

“What would you have me do?” She sneered. “Wait a week? A fortnight? Sit around like a good little pencil pusher for the next month? Newsflash; nothing else does matter to me right now. Narcissa is dying and Draco is almost at the end of his house arrest.”

“Did you not think,” Harry took a step closer to her and lowered his volume, “that being here, and stealing that,” he nodded at the box in her hands, “could jeopardise both their cases?”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No,” Harry set his jaw and spoke through gritted teeth, “I’m warning you.”

Hermione glared at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of the reasonable, compassionate boy she had met all those years ago as he shared all of his sweets with someone less fortunate than himself; she found only contempt and a worrying undercurrent of condescension. Her shoulder thrust deeply into his side as she pushed past him, hurrying towards the lift.

“Consider me warned,” she said coldly, addressing his back. 

“Hermione,” he sighed, turning on the spot to face her again; the elevator had gone, and she was already out of sight.

 

“Draco!” Hermione called as she marched through the front door. It swung open as she moved towards it, not breaking her stride until she stood in the middle of the vast foyer.

The Manor looked completely different to when she had first visited here; the curtains were tied neatly back from the windows and sunlight streamed into the room, making it feel warm and inviting.

“Malfoy?” Hermione called again as she moved towards the stairs to her right.

She had no idea where his bedroom was; she doubted she’d even be able to navigate her way to the drawing room from here. It did not seem like a farfetched idea that the living quarters would be on the second floor, or perhaps even the third.

Poised to move towards the wide staircase, Hermione was stopped in her tracks by the tell-tale sound of Miksy apparating into the room.

“Miss Hermione!” The elf squeaked and bowed low. “I is taking you to see Mister Draco, Miss!”

Before Hermione could react, Miksy launched forward and grasped her hand. In the next second, they landed in a vast bedroom decorated in deep greens and silvers.

“Granger?”

Hermione staggered, slightly disoriented from the sudden apparition. She faintly recognised the sound of Miksy disappearing and turned to face Draco. He had just exited the bathroom, his wet hair slicked back from his face and a towel slung low around his hips. Hermione’s mouth dropped open as she noted the light smattering of blond hair that ran in a straight line from the bottom of his rib cage, over the defined muscles of his abdomen, and disappeared scandalously into the waistband of his pants. Finally, she watched the muscles in his upper arms flex as he brought them across his chest, folding them there nonchalantly.

Subconsciously, she took two steps towards him; she was close enough to see the droplets as they ran from his neck into the fine hair on his chest.

“Can I get dressed first?” He smirked and Hermione felt her cheeks burn an inferno.

This was too much for Hermione, and she turned on her heel with a squeak. She squeezed her eyes shut and took two steps forward, colliding with a large solid object she discovered was his bed, her eyes forced open on impact.

The box she was carrying pressed against her front and she was suddenly reminded of the reason for her visit. She turned robotically again and strode back to him, careful to avoid his gaze. She dropped the box on the floor near his feet and began her retreat again, backwards this time.

She was almost at the door before she realised she was still holding the notes, and she needed the box.

“Merlin,” she whimpered. She could feel his gaze on her as she ran across the room and bent quickly to collect the box. As she straightened, she realised that there was less than a foot between them, and Draco was looking at her with an expression of sinister amusement.

She took a big step backwards and stretched her right hand in front of her, offering him the stack of notes. He glanced down at her hand before meeting her gaze again. She waved the papers, the rustling sound echoing around the room, and he took them from her slowly.

“And what am I meant to do with these, Granger?” His voice was low, and far too seductive to be allowed.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out; she briefly wondered if it was possible to die from the overheating of one’s face before her flight instinct kicked in.

“Not – I – never…I – shit…” she stumbled both over her words and her feet as she scurried backwards, glancing furtively over her shoulders to ensure she would not collect herself on another piece of his furniture. The feel of the doorframe between her shoulder blades was a relief and she flashed a manic smile before turning and sprinting down the hallway, and back down the stairs.

She found Miksy in the kitchen, unsure of exactly how she found her way through the vast house. The little elf, while apologetic, wore a knowing smile the entire time Hermione chastised her for taking her to Draco while the Master was in such a state.

Her lecture was cut short as the source of her embarrassment entered the kitchen, blessedly clothed. He grinned as he entered, but Hermione did not return the courtesy.

“I’ve scheduled your mother’s re-trial for the fifteenth of September, two weeks after your house arrest will be lifted.”

_Dammit,_ Hermione winced, _he can do basic maths, you fool! Stop talking!_

“I managed to get in to the archives and Lucius left a diary,” she tapped the box absentmindedly, the cardboard still tucked beneath her arm. “It had the code in it, and a list of instructions for if any of you were ever imprisoned. And a vial!” She could hear the hysteria in her voice, but it seemed as if Draco was too shocked to dig her out of the hole she was burying herself in. “I think it contains a memory from Dumbledore, and – “

“Dumbledore?” Draco finally interjected, and Hermione drew her first breath since he entered the kitchen. “Why would you think that?”

“Because your father mentions him, on the list of instructions.”

“Lucius hated Dumbledore,” Draco commented flatly. “Why would there be a memory of his at the Ministry?”

“Because it was supposed to be used as evidence in your case,” Hermione felt her heartrate skyrocket again, as though her mind would torture her with mental images of catching Malfoy half naked and her flailing like a virgin if she didn’t fill every second with noise. “I believe that someone purposefully hid this evidence, but I don’t know why. Maybe your father would know; I’m sure he would,” Hermione shook her head, “I – “

“Granger,” Draco stepped towards her, reaching forward and removing the box from her vice like grip. As he settled it on the counter, she realised she had almost squashed it flat. “I really appreciate what you’re doing for my family.”

Hermione’s eyes widened impossibly and her lips parted in an effort to draw more oxygen into her suddenly starving lungs. Mesmerised, she simply stood rooted to the spot as he lifted a hand and gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his patented smirk tugging at his lips.

“So,” Hermione winced, hating how her voice shook on just one syllable. “A plan…”

“I’m sure you have one,” Draco grinned, and Hermione felt butterflies erupt in her abdomen.

“Yes, I do.” She cleared her throat. “First, I have to get the vial to a pensieve. “You don’t happen to have one, do you?”

Draco shook his head. “No. We used to have several, but my father destroyed them when he learned that the Dark Lord would be residing here.”

Hermione pursed her lips. That sounded exactly like something the self-serving patriarch would do. “I’ll have to use one at the Ministry…” she said, more to herself than Draco.

“What about Lucius?”

“He helped me get the answers that will help free Narcissa. Then it’s up to the Wizengamot to decide whether that constitutes enough evidence to release him.”

“Let me know if I can help,” Draco said.

Hermione nodded, her smile slowly returning. “I will…only one more week!”

He smiled back, and for a moment they just stood looking at each other, grinning like idiots. Hermione leaned closer, as if their chests contained magnets of opposite poles. She watched as his gaze flicked to her mouth; his eyes darkened and his tongue seemed to move in slow motion as it darted over his lower lip.

Draco raised his arm and Hermione braced herself for his hand on her cheek…it found her shoulder instead.

“Well, I’ll show you to the door.” Draco’s touch was gone as quick as it had come, and Hermione felt as if she had been slapped. Dazedly, she collected the box and followed him from the kitchen.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he said as they hit the foyer. “Please let me know as soon as you’ve attempted the plan.” His voice was too businesslike, and Hermione frowned in confusion; had she completely misread him?

Before she could return his goodbye and escape from the most awkward, embarrassing encounter of her entire life, the front door opened behind them and quick footsteps made their way into the foyer.

“Hermione!” Blaise’s eyes went wide as he stopped in the entryway.

“Blaise!” Hermione turned on the spot and came face to face with the Italian wizard. He was wearing simple blue jeans and a yellow polo shirt, looking anything but like the professional businessman.

He stepped forward and scooped the witch into a hug and Draco had to work quickly in order to turn his growl into a cough.

“Good to see you,” Blaise took Hermione’s hands in his and held her at arm’s length. “Did you do something to your hair? It looks amazing.” He shot her a full-blown Zabini smile; all one thousand watts. Draco ground his teeth together as he recognised the tell-tale blush on her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she said shyly.

Hermione did not mind the attention Blaise was showing her, but she did wonder what his motives were. He seemed like a nice enough wizard, when he wasn’t busy schmoosing and blackmailing, but she still wouldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I just came to tell Malfoy the good news.”

So Blaise already knew. _Typical,_ Draco thought, _and she’s back to using my surname now?_ He choked on his inhale and folded his arms across his chest. “Thanks for coming by, Granger,” he said bitterly. “I’ll be in touch.”

Hermione watched, bewildered, as Draco hurried back up the stairs and disappeared down the hallway.

“Don’t mind him,” Draco heard Blaise purr. He imagined the Italian wrapping a hand gently around Hermione’s upper arm and leading her towards the sitting room. “Would you like some tea?”

“Oh,” Hermione’s muffled reply came from below him and Draco slowed down so that he would catch her response, “sure, I’d love some tea.”

Of course she would.

_I should have known_ , Draco thought as he paced his study like an agitated lion, _Blaise has been playing me; he wants me to make a fool of myself in front of Granger so that he can have her all to himself._

 

Hermione had settled into her new role at the Ministry surprisingly quickly. She had assumed that people would need some time to adjust to Vivienne being gone, but the change had gone smoothly. Hermione had not ventured to the Auror department since her run in with Harry, and she had decided to wait a week before attempting to locate the pensieve to watch the memory from Lucius’ box.

With just five days until Draco’s release, and only two and a half weeks until Narcissa’s re-trial, Hermione knew she didn’t have a lot of time, but she was so sure the vial was a memory from Dumbledore himself; there was no immediate need to rush.

She arrived at the Ministry early, determined to find the pensieve in the courtroom chamber and watch the memory before anyone else arrived in the Department. She dropped her things off in her office; she wasn’t sure how long the memory would be, and didn’t want to look like she had arrived late as she made her way back. Ensuring that her office was locked, she walked quickly towards the lift, and took it down, the vial clutched firmly in her right hand.  

It was not difficult to locate the stone basin; it stood in the middle of a small room off to the side of a large courtroom often used for the higher profile cases. She stepped forward and moved to take the cork from the vial; she did not hear the door open behind her…

“Hermione? What are you doing in here?”

Hermione turned quickly, her hands braced behind her on the edges of the stone basin. The tall form of Ron Weasley was peering down at her. Hermione gasped, but in her shock she could not find the words to ask him the same question.

The door closed behind him with a dull thud and he stepped further into the room. As he moved, the candles threw his expression into sharp relief; his eyes were narrowed, and his lips pursed – a sure sign that he was suspicious.

“I – “

“What have you got there?” With reflexes she would not have believed he possessed, Ron snatched the vial from her grasp before Hermione had a chance to respond.

“Give it back!”

“A memory?” He held the vial up towards the light of a candle, the silvery mist within swirling and writhing as if it longed to be free of its confines.

“It’s none of your business, Ronald,” Hermione snapped. “Now give it back!”

“Tell me what you are doing down here.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She deadpanned. “I was going to view the memory.”

“Whose is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“This has something to do with Malfoy, doesn’t it?”

“I believe that the Malfoy case is the sole responsibility of _my_ department, Ron.” Her tone was defiant, but her insides were churning like the sea in a storm.

“Your department,” he echoed quietly. His eyes slid from her face to watch the memory dance in the vial. “Vivienne hasn’t told me exactly what went down last week,” he murmured, “but I’ve known you long enough to tell that you had something to do with her decision to quit.”

“What your wife does is not of my concern,” Hermione shot back. “If you’re so suspicious, why don’t you go and play detective with _her_?”

Ron’s eyes narrowed to slits and he took another step forward. Hermione had never been scared of him; he was not physically violent or threatening, and for all the shit he put her through emotionally, he had never laid a hand on her. In this moment, however, he was menacing, and as brave as Hermione was, the situation was delicate. She had to work hard not to react to the adrenaline coursing through her body.

“I’d rather you just answer the question, Hermione. What does this vial contain and why was it so necessary for you to be down here using Ministry equipment if it has nothing to do with the Malfoy case?”

“It’s for another case.” Hermione lied quickly.

“Okay,” Ron sneered. “Which one?”

“That’s confidential.”

“We work for the same department,” he hissed. “Tell me what is going on, and I’ll give it back.”

Hermione shook her head. “You’re here out of loyalty to Vivienne,” her voice cracked over the witch’s name, but her eyes were dry; it was an odd moment to realise she had finally moved on from Ron and now only felt pity for him, but she could not dwell on it for long. “I do not owe you an explanation for the vial _or_ for her leaving the Ministry. Now, please hand back the vial so I can continue on with my day.”

Ron was silent for a long time. His blue eyes raked over her features as if committing them to memory, and his stance shifted into a more relaxed position of someone admiring a painting. As he watched her, Hermione felt the baby hairs on her neck stand up. Calm was not a word she would use to describe Ronald Weasley, and a feeling of dread began to coil in her gut the longer they stood opposing each other. She was about to break the silence by lunging for the vial, but Ron seemed to anticipate her movements.

“Hermione Granger,” he enunciated as he moved his arm above his head, holding the vial aloft, “I am confiscating this memory under suspicion of your malpractice in regard to your work on the case of the Malfoy family.”

Hermione felt the spring of dread snap, and heat coursed through her like a flooding river. “What? You can’t do that! I don’t even know if it has anything to do with the Malfoy case!”

“Yet you found it in an archive hidden by Lucius Malfoy himself?” Ron grinned condescendingly.

Longing to launch in to a tirade, Hermione bit down on her tongue; if she wanted the vial back quickly, she knew she had to play along…as difficult as it was.

“You can have this back,” he wiggled the vial between thumb and forefinger, dangling it in front of her face, “when I am satisfied that the contents will be enough to ensure Malfoy’s safe passage back to Azkaban.”

“I suppose it’s fitting,” Hermione said in a knowing tone, “that the selfish prick would show loyalty to those who deserve it the least. Enjoy your comeuppance.”

Ron frowned as he reached the door, but he did not pause in his movements to open it.

 

At lunch, Blaise visited Hermione in her office. He had been gracing the Ministry more often since Hermione had started her new position. She was working to improve his reputation with the officials, and so far it was looking like he would have to begin a new recruitment drive and open a London office just to keep up with demand.

It was not routine, Hermione had mused, to have lunch with Blaise, but he had appeared at the same time for the past three days, and they always ate together. Usually, they stayed far away from the topic of Draco and his mother’s case, but today Hermione had to tell him what had gone down with Ron and the pensieve.

“And you just let him walk off with it?” Blaise threw his arms wide, anger flashing dangerously in his eyes.

“What was I meant to do?” Hermione shot back. “I’d left my wand here!”

“You fought in a fucking war!” He hissed. “How do you _forget_ to take your wand anywhere? When I Floo’d into your apartment you _were sleeping with it_!”

“I’m sorry, okay?” She sighed and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I took an opportunity; I forgot to grab my wand. I wasn’t expecting to be accosted by Ron.”

“Sorry?” Blaise blinked, a threatening smile on his face. “Granger, if that memory hurts one hair on Draco’s or Narcissa’s head, I will ensure you live to regret the day you placed the Sorting Hat on top of yours.”

“Trust me, Zabini,” Hermione said through clenched teeth. “If this hurts Draco or his mother, there is nothing you could do that would be worse than what I will do to myself.”

Blaise exhaled forcefully through his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he spat. He paused, glancing down at the witch in front of him. “So…you do like him.” His tone was softer now.

Hermione glared at him, her cheeks suddenly flushed. “This is not the time, nor the place.” She gestured with a nod towards the door.

Blaise flicked his wrist lazily and the door clicked shut. “Come to dinner tonight; we can break the news to Draco together.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she shook her head emphatically. “Draco can’t know; he’s so close to being released, I don’t want to upset him with this. Let me handle it. Blaise,” she waited for the Italian to nod once before continuing. “Promise me you won’t say anything? I’ll have the memory back in time for the trial. He doesn’t need to know.”

“I’m not promising anything, Granger. Keeping things from Draco has never been part of our friendship, and I’m not about to start now…especially not with something so important. This could change everything. And,” he quirked an eyebrow at her, “if you’re sure that you like him _in that way_ ,” he grinned at the scowl on her face, “then you shouldn’t hide this from him either.”

Hermione slumped back in her chair and lowered her gaze to her lap. “We’re so close,” she whispered.

“Whatever is in that vial will only help Narcissa’s case, I’m sure of it. Weasley will return it as soon as he figures that out, and you’ll be on your merry way to save the day as usual.”

“Thanks,” she smiled weakly up at him.

“Now,” he clicked his fingers, “what shall I ask Miksy to make us for dinner? Any requests? Special dietary requirements?”

“Nothing fancy,” Hermione said quickly; though she had realised years ago that house elf liberation had far more consequences than their enslavement, she still didn’t like the idea of putting pressure on Miksy.

“Okay,” Blaise pushed out his bottom lip in thought. “Can do. Meet you at the apparition point around six? We can have a drink, and you can tell Draco about the vial after he finishes his third glass; that’s the safe range.”

Hermione smiled nervously. “Okay,” she nodded. “See you at six.”

 

Blaise was waiting for her at the apparition point at exactly six o’clock, and Hermione smiled as she approached him.

“Ready?” He asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” she shrugged. “Let’s go.”

Blaise offered her his arm and Hermione took it. In a split second, their surroundings disappeared and they were being squeezed through tightly packed air. Their feet hit solid ground, and Hermione found herself at the front door of Malfoy Manor.

“Draco!” Blaise called as they stepped over the threshold. “I’m home!”

Hermione bit down on the giggle that threatened at the implications of this statement and allowed Blaise to take her coat.

“Head into the sitting room,” he told her, “I’ll tell him you’re here and butter him up a bit.”

Hermione nodded and went to make herself comfortable in an armchair. As she sat, she heard footsteps approaching the foyer and then Draco’s voice floated down the hallway.

“Blaise.” Hermione frowned; his tone was oddly cold for someone greeting his best friend. “To what do I owe the overt announcement of your arrival?”

“I had a good day,” Blaise’s tone was as nonchalant as Draco’s was tense, “I figured we could chat over a drink.”

“No thanks.”

“Come on, Draco,” Blaise huffed. “Stop being such a mopey fucking prat. Granger is working her arse off on your mother’s case and she’s so close to cracking it!”

“Good. That’s what my family’s vault is paying her to do.”

Hermione winced; that was harsh…and definitely uncalled for. _What is up his arse?_

“You do realise your family isn’t paying a knut?” Blaise drawled. “You’re being an arsehole; I spoke to Granger today and we – “

“Oh really?” Draco interjected, his voice dripping with venom. “How cosy, you and Granger cavorting behind closed doors. Just…cosy.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Forgive me for not wanting to hear about your work conquests,” Draco sniffed. Hermione felt her blood run cold; how dare he!

“That’s unfair,” Blaise said warningly.

“Is it? Because it makes perfect sense to me! Every time Granger is here, she’s swept away by you within fifteen minutes!”

A pause.

“I see.”

“No you don’t!”

“Then why don’t you explain it to me, Draco, because honestly I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you anymore!”

“What’s going on,” Draco spat, “is that I’ve had enough of watching you and Granger snuggle up to each other like a couple of lovestruck teenagers; it’s sickening!”

“Oh?”

“I would appreciate,” Hermione heard the menacing note in his voice and stood, wondering if it would be impolite to interrupt, “if you would just steer clear from her; she’s here to do a job as my lawyer.”

“Is that all this is about? You’re upset about because I’m stealing _your lawyer_ away from you?”

“Yes. It’s completely…”

“Completely what? Because if it’s really bothering you,” Blaise’s voice was low and Hermione crept towards the hallway to in order to hear more clearly, “I can always take her out of the Manor, if it makes you feel better…”

Hermione shuddered…what was going on? She had no more interest in Blaise than she had in Harry; they were friends. The thought of _snuggling_ up to him, as Draco had suggested, was borderline repulsive.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Draco growled through gritted teeth.

“Really?” Blaise adopted a slimy voice Hermione imagined being used in board meetings with stuffy rich white guys. “You’d have no problem with me dating Granger if I don’t bring our _activities_ to the Manor? Because you know I own several hotels in London, including that posh little inn with the vibrating beds…” He paused, as if waiting for Draco to react. “You know the vibrating beds,” he pressed, “her hair would look amazing spread across the pillows as I – “

“Fine!” Draco bellowed, his face tinged a delicate pink. “You want me to react? You want me to tell you I have feelings for her? Newsflash, arsehole, I’ve known for _months_ , just like you have!” Hermione’s mouth fell open and she quickly covered it with her hand to prevent the sound of shock from escaping. “I don’t know why you keep pressing me on this! We both know I like her and I think it’s pretty bloody obvious that she has feelings for you!”

“Stop!” Blaise growled. “You need to talk to her.”

Hermione was suddenly gripped by panic; was Blaise about to drag Draco in here and force them to talk? Now? She wasn’t ready – not after that display. Pushing herself off of the wall, Hermione walked as quickly and as silently as she could manage back down the hallway, gathering her coat from the stand in the entryway. Sighing heavily, Hermione clipped the door shut behind her. Her chest felt like it had been compressed between two heavy pieces of wood, and her head buzzed with the newfound information.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note! Updates may be a little later than my usual Sundays as we near the end of this fic. My beta and I have both been ill this week and it has put us significantly behind. I will still be updating within 7-10 days for each chapter, and there is no way I’d abandon this fic. Thank you to all of you who have followed, favourited, and reviewed – I really appreciate it! I apologise in advance if future updates are sporadic, RL is such a pain!
> 
> Much love,
> 
> CourtingInsanity xx


	20. Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is finally free from his house arrest, and who better to spend the day with than the woman who has so effectively stolen his heart? The only problem is, he hasn't spoken to her since she overheard him admit that he has feelings for her...and he has no idea she knows.

 

Hermione had never been so indecisive in her entire life. She had, stupidly, expected that Draco would have owled by now, to apologise for his outburst on Wednesday…but she had to keep reminding herself that he had not known she had witnessed it.

A sensation like a hot ball of wax had solidified in her stomach, and she was unable to focus on anything other than the sound of Draco's voice;

_"We both know I like her and I think it's pretty bloody obvious that she has feelings for you!"_

It did not make sense to her, that Draco would think she liked Blaise. Sure, the Italian wizard was certainly handsome, and quite charming when he chose to be…but Hermione had never entertained the idea of  _dating_  him; how could she, when she had fallen so spectacularly for the ignorant blond?

She longed to discuss the issue with Blaise, who had continued to join her for lunch in her office at the Ministry. He did not seem willing to discuss the topic, however, and was yet to mention the incident. Hermione wondered whether he assumed that she had left before Draco had admitted his feelings; either way, it was driving Hermione slowly insane.

She spent her nights imagining how to broach the subject with Blaise without giving herself away and igniting his suspicion. She spent their lunch breaks with her heart in her throat, the words on her tongue; she told herself that Blaise never gave her the right opening, but the real reason she never plucked up the courage to ask about Draco was because she was terrified of the possible answer.

* * *

Draco watched the sun rise on the first of September from his bedroom window. He had not felt this excited since the morning of his first day of fourth year, when he had known the Triwizard Tournament was going to be held at Hogwarts. Closing his eyes, he imagined the flock of young witches and wizards who would be stirring to the sound of alarm clocks and cajoling parents, preparing for the journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

A whisper of a smile tugged at his lips as the sun tinged the horizon a deep orange. His mother was the one who would greet him early on the morning of his return to school. She would sit on his bed and run her long fingers through his hair until he was lucid, and then she would order the house elves to make him his favourite breakfast; waffles with syrup, whipped cream, and strawberries.

His stomach clenched painfully as he thought of Narcissa now; he longed to see her, to confirm that she still breathed the same air as he did.

_Two weeks_ , he thought suddenly.  _Two weeks until the retrial…I only hope she can hang on that long._

Over the past few days he had considered owling Granger and asking if it would be possible for her to visit his mother; it would be only too easy, now that she was well ranked in the Ministry. But, he knew what her answer would be…

_"I'm sorry, Draco,"_  he conjured her pretty lilt in his mind.  _"If I visit your mother now, the Wizengamot could twist our case."_

He sighed heavily. Guilt bloomed in his chest for his mother and warred with the elation he felt of the significance of this particular beginning of autumn. The watch on his left wrist told him it was a little after six in the morning. He assumed that Granger would be along around nine, given her office hours.

At half past eight, Blaise found him in the sitting room.

"Waiting for Granger?"

Draco nodded in response. Things had settled between the pair of them since his outburst last week; his admittance that he felt something for Hermione was oddly cathartic, and apparently it had been what Blaise had been waiting for.

"Enjoy your day," Blaise shot him a lop-sided grin as he slung a satchel over his shoulder. "Sorry I can't be the one to parade you around London, but I dare say you'd rather Granger be your chaperone." He winked, and then was gone.

At any other time, Draco might have scowled after his friend, but he was too focused on the state of the wards to pay Blaise any real attention. He sat with his back straight, utterly tuned in to the faint vibrations which told him that no one was trying to enter the Malfoy grounds.

His watch ticked over nine o'clock, and he began to pace. She would be here soon; she had to be.

At fifteen minutes past, Draco stumbled to a halt, a sickening heat settling in the base of his spine. Maybe he had messed up the dates; or maybe they weren't happy with his paperwork. A case worker had visited him weekly since Granger had quit, and though it was never the same person and he could barely recall their faces now, he knew he had answered every single question, and that the last one had been open about the fact that it would be his last before his release.

A sharp tapping on the window startled him from his thoughts. A barn owl flew into the room and perched on the back of the couch, an official Ministry envelope clutched in its beak; Draco hurried to take the parchment from it. The owl hooted once before soaring back out of the window, leaving Draco to tear open the letter and skim it briefly.

Excitement tingled through his veins as his eyes grazed keywords;  _house arrest lifted…hereby free…vaults opened…_

With a whoop of glee, he turned on his heel, grabbed a fistful of Floo powder, and stepped forward into the grate. The emerald flames gathered him in their light and he was soon whizzing away, watching the flash of living rooms before he arrived in the belly of the Ministry.

A Malfoy arriving in the atrium should have been enough to stop the entire workforce, but Draco was surprised to note that no one paid him any mind as they bustled through the space. Nonchalantly, he made his way to the elevator and was soon on his way to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

With a skip in his step and a grin on his face, he located Hermione's office and knocked three times.

"She's not in there." A bored voice said from behind him.

Draco spun around to find himself face to face with a rather flamboyant looking wizard. Atticus placed a hand on his hip and jutted it out; he looked at Draco as if the blond was a small snack.

"Miss Granger is taking a personal day," he explained as his gaze came to rest on Draco's face again.

"Thanks," Draco muttered before making a quick exit.

He tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment as it bubbled in his chest; was she avoiding him? He racked his brain, trying to find a reason for her absence; if there was one, it was lost on him.

As he stood in front of the grate in the atrium, Draco weighed up his options. The reasonable part of him said to return home, maybe send her an owl, and wait for Hermione to come to him. The irrational, and stronger part of him said to Floo to her place immediately. It would be a risk, considering he had never been to her house before, but he was confident he would recognise it…well, mostly confident.

His confidence was well placed. He exited the Floo into a living room decorated in soft beige and pale blue. His eyes darted around the space, before landing on the sleeping figure on her sofa.

Her hair was spread out over the edge of the sofa, one arm thrown behind her head, while the other rested across her bare stomach. Draco's eyes widened slightly at the strip of creamy skin visible between her thin cotton shirt and...Oh, Merlin; she wasn't wearing pants.

He swallowed thickly and forced himself to shift his gaze back to her face. In sleep, she looked more relaxed than he ever thought possible for Hermione Granger; in his mind, she was perpetually moving and talking and  _being_. This version of her made him want to take her in his arms and never let her go; the thought was sobering.

"Granger," he barked. She began to stir but did not open her eyes. He took a step forward, so that he would be able to reach out and brush her hair from her forehead, should he choose to. "Granger!" He repeated and clapped his hands together once.

Hermione gasped and sat up, her gaze instantly on him. "Malfoy?" Her voice was adorably hoarse, and Draco stiffened so as not to drop into a crouch beside her and…

He cleared his throat. "Good morning. I would have thought I'd be held at wand-point by now, if Blaise is to be believed." She continued to blink at him, and he suddenly wondered if perhaps she was ill. "Are you unwell?"

Hermione shook her head, but the movement was slower than what Draco would consider normal. He frowned.

"I took a sleeping draught," she yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm free." He held his arms wide.

"Oh," Hermione blinked, and Draco watched as realisation and clarity hit her. " _Oh!_ "

She was up off the couch at lightning speed, only to realise that the movement had put her chest to chest with Draco. He smirked down at her, noting the blush that bloomed instantly across her cheeks.

"What are you doing here?" He countered. "I went to the Ministry first and was told you were taking a day off. I didn't realise you knew how to do that."

"I needed a personal day," she shot back, her arms coming up to cross over her chest. Draco wished she had left them by her sides; it was painfully obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra now.

"A personal day? Why? Is Mother's case causing you trouble? Blaise told me about the vial, and I am utterly furious at that  _weasel_ , but I'm not annoyed with you…"

He trailed off as she shook her head. "No, Malfoy. I take the day off every year; it's painful for me to be around people…usually."

She bit her lip and avoided his gaze. It was different this year; she was over Ron, she knew that. But she didn't much feel like pretending that she hadn't overheard the conversation between Draco and Blaise last week.

The blond frowned but did not press for more details. "Come on," he said. "There's so much I want to do, and we're wasting time standing here."

"What are you - ?"

"You don't honestly think I'm going to let you sit here and wallow in misery, do you?" He smirked. "This is the first time I have been  _outside_  in nearly six years. So, do you think you can stop pining for five minutes and accompany me on a little adventure?"

She glowered. "Why can't you just go by yourself?"

Malfoy stopped, and Hermione watched as the shutters came down over his eyes.

"I see," he said quietly. "You don't want to be seen in public with me." It was not a question.

Hermione's jaw dropped. "No! That's not – "

"It's okay. I understand."

Hermione growled low in her throat and stomped her foot. Malfoy took a step back as he caught the fierce look in her eyes.

"Ron proposed to me on this day three years ago."

Malfoy blinked. Hermione felt her shoulder slump and her fists relax; she was unaware she had balled them at her sides. She felt heat flood her cheeks as Malfoy's expression melted slightly. Was that understanding in his eyes?

He snorted. "So? You're not still wallowing over that prick, are you? Good Gods, Granger. You're better than that."

Hermione wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. She bit her lip as she pondered.

"I usually just take the day off and eat a tonne of Ben and Jerry's."

"Ben and Jerry's  _what_?" Malfoy shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We're going out."

He looked her up and own as he swung his jacket around his shoulders.

"Do you need to change?"

Hermione fixed him with a glare. The corners of his mouth twitched.

"No, Malfoy," she deadpanned. His face split into a wide grin. "Of course I need to change, you dolt! I'm not wearing pants." She gestured theatrically to her bottom half before catching sight of the look on his face. She turned on her heel to stop herself from jumping into his arms, the heat in his eyes a magnetic force to be reckoned with, and marched into her bedroom. She returned ten minutes later in jeans and a t-shirt, a jacket slung over her arm.

"Let's go," she grumbled.

"That's the spirit," Draco rolled his eyes and held out her purse, which she snatched from his grasp. "You're welcome," he muttered beneath his breath.

"What?" She snapped, reaching for the door handle.

"Nothing," he replied quickly. He caught the door as she wrenched it open, allowing her to pass through first.

"Thank you," she said stiffly.

Draco grinned but did not reply.

"What do you want to do?" Hermione asked as the brick wall dissolved to reveal the bustling shopping district of Diagon Alley.

Draco smiled almost shyly. "Well, I don't have a wand…"

"To Ollivander's then!" Hermione squinted up at him, unable to help the grin on her face. Now that she was out, she was feeling grateful to her companion for dragging her away from a day of self-pity and too ingesting many calories.

The shop was empty close to lunch time on the day that the majority of magical British children were making their way to Hogwarts. A sense of nostalgia washed over Hermione as they entered the familiar space, the bell on the door jingling.

Draco felt his jaw drop; in 12 years the shop still looked exactly as it had when he had first entered it. There was no sign of the shop keeper, so they stepped towards the counter.

"Hello?" Hermione called. "Mister Ollivander?"

"Do you think this is a good - ?" Draco was cut off by the sound of wood scraping together; Mister Ollivander appeared halfway up a ladder that had come cruising into view.

"Miss Granger," he greeted in his soft tone. "And Mister Malfoy…" he trailed off, a faint look of surprise etched on to his features. Draco watched warily as the old man dismounted from his ladder and shuffled towards them. "I wondered when I'd be seeing you again."

"You-you did?" Draco stuttered.

"Yes," the old man nodded, his eyes wide. Draco felt the urge to look away but found himself held uncomfortably in the pale blue gaze. "Your wand changed its allegiance," he stated, "and then…well, unfortunate, and unnecessary if you ask me but…" he trailed off again.

Draco flicked his gaze to Hermione and quirked an eyebrow in a silent question;  _is he mad?_

Hermione giggled, but stepped forward to grant Draco some reprieve. "We'd like to get Draco sized for a new wand please, Mister Ollivander." She said clearly.

It was not as easy - though just as fun - as when he was eleven. The pile of wands quickly grew as Draco  _swished_  and  _flicked_ , unable to produce much more than a feeble wisp of smoke.

"No matter," Mister Ollivander kept muttering as he opened box after box.

Draco was feeling quite desperate as the older wizard handed him what must have been his twentieth wand.

"Eleven inches, aspen, unicorn hair." Ollivander said.

As Draco wrapped his hand around it, he sensed that this was the one. He brought it up to chest height and cast a simple  _lumos_. The shop was suddenly bathed in a warm glow. Hermione clapped her hands together and came to stand next to him.

"How does it feel?" She asked, her lips stretched into a wide grin.

"Amazing," he breathed, mimicking her expression.

After Ollivander's, they wandered down the cobblestone street, stopping every now and then to admire a shop front. Draco had placed his wand carefully in the pocket inside his robes, and regularly checked to make sure it was still there; his stomach flipped in excitement every time he confirmed that their trip to the wandmaker's had not been a dream.

An hour in to their shopping trip, Draco turned to Hermione to ask where she would like to go next, only to find that the brunette witch was no longer strolling beside him. He frowned as he turned back, where she was standing frozen three steps from the door of Flourish and Blotts. He jogged back over to her, ducking his head to read her expression. She did not offer an explanation, but the look on her face was enough for him to follow her gaze.

On the other side of the street, coming out of the apothecary was Ronald Weasley. Draco's face automatically pinched into a familiar sneer in reaction to the redheaded tosspot. He watched as Weasley placed his hands in the pockets of his robes - Auror robes, Draco noted - and looked both way down the street. As his eyes swept back along the cobblestone, he began to walk…and then he stopped.

Draco heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath as the git recognised them, his gaze locked on the brunette witch. He turned to her, poised to ask if she would like to continue towards Flourish and Blotts, when she suddenly moved.

Time slowed to a crawl and Draco would swear later that he watched every second of the next thirty in excruciatingly clear detail. Her left hand fisted in the front of his button up shirt first, effectively dragging him to her; he stumbled, and then caught himself by placing his hands on her waist. He would not have bet that she could support his weight, but she did not flinch as her right hand slid up his chest and around his neck, threading her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He thought briefly of his desire to get a hair cut from a few days ago; it had mysteriously disappeared as her nails scratched gently at his scalp.

"Please," she whispered, the one syllable stretching as if the wind had picked it up as it left her mouth and then echoed it into his ear on repeat.

He gripped her tighter as her lips met his; tentatively at first, as if she was trying not to scare him off. In that moment, it was all he could do not to turn her around and slam her back against the shop front, but he restrained himself, recognising with a pang in his chest, that she was only kissing him in reaction to seeing Weasley.

It was short and sweet, just lips moving against each other, until her hand slid from his hair to meet the other one on his chest, and she broke away. His breathing was shallow, and he wondered if she could hear his heart as it galloped in his chest, trying to break free of its confines.

She had meant to just kiss him, swiftly, and then glance back to Ron to gauge his reaction. It wasn't meant to affect her in this way; she wasn't supposed to want to kiss him again, immediately, regardless of who might be watching. Stamping on the idea of apparating them both back to her apartment, Hermione forced herself to look up into Draco's face.

His eyes were liquid onyx, pupils blown wide and raking over her face as if trying to decipher the meaning behind her impulse action.

"Granger," he murmured, bringing her attention to his lips. She swallowed thickly, intending to step back and explain herself.

He held on to her, his fingers digging possessively into her sides. A delicious shiver ran up her back and she melted into him again, both of her hands hooking around the back of his neck this time.

She felt him smirk against her lips as he captured them with his own. This time he was in control, and he wasted no time in swiping his tongue over the seam of her lips, silently asking permission. Hermione did not pause to consider the fact that they were in public and granted him access immediately; he tasted like faded spearmint.

Fireworks exploded behind her eyelids as she sank further into him, relishing the feeling of his right hand as he brought it up to the back of her neck and wove his fingers into her curls. Her uncontrollable moan was met with a soft chuckle from the blond, who pulled back, but kept his hand tangled in her hair.

His eyes were melted pools of silver, swirling with a sea of emotions that Hermione struggled to sort out, her brain feeling rather foggy. She brought her arms down and allowed them to rest lazily against his chest. His heartbeat pulsed through her fingertips, undeniable proof that he was still recovering from the kiss, just as she was.

When he had regained his breath somewhat, Draco broke the silence. "Was that just a show for Weasley?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide; she had forgotten all about seeing Ron. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, but the red-haired menace was gone. Her shoulders slumped gratefully as she turned back to Draco.

"I – " She licked her lips; the taste of him lingered. For a split second she considered kissing him again, but then she caught the way his eyes had hardened again; his defences were going back up. "I overheard you and Blaise arguing the other night."

Draco's hand fell from her hair and Hermione winced as he took several strands with it. He stepped back. "You were there?"

Hermione nodded. "In the sitting room. Blaise had invited me to dinner, to tell you about the vial…"

Draco made a frustrated noise through his nostrils and glanced away, his lips in a thin line. "What did you hear, exactly?" He demanded, his burning gaze snapping back to her.

"That you have feelings for me." She whispered.

Draco inhaled sharply. "Granger," he began, running a hand through his hair. "This might have been a mistake, I didn't realise – "

"Is it true?" Hermione held his gaze, her expression blank.

Draco swallowed against the lump of fear that had taken up residence in his throat. This was not how he had imagined this scenario playing out, and that was saying something considering the hours he had spent conjuring this very moment in his daydreams.

Though, he supposed, if she was going to hex him, at least they were in public.

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled in a long, slow breath. "Yes," he enunciated.

"Really?"

"Is it so hard to believe?"

"Um," she licked her lips and glanced furtively away from him. He decided he did not like it when she looked away. "Sort of…"

"Why?"

She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Because it's you," she gestured towards him, "and because it's me." She let her hand drop back to her side. "But I don't think you understand – "

"Of course I understand," he cut her off, his tone bitter and laced with disappointment. "I know you're not interested in me; I tried to tell Blaise but he – "

"Shut up!" Hermione shouted, effectively silencing the blond. She stepped forward, closing the gap between them, her hands landing on his shoulders. For one fleeting second, Draco thought she was going to kiss him again. But then he was rocking back and forth in sharp bursts, and he realised she was  _shaking_ him; his teeth began to rattle in his head and his eyes slid out of focus.

"You are the most annoying, ignorant,  _stupid_  wizard I have ever had the misfortune of meeting!" She growled in time with her shaking. "Always moping and licking your imaginary wounds, it's a wonder I ever fell for you in the first place!" Draco's breath hitched and Hermione suddenly stopped manhandling him. "You should have just told me," she said in a small voice as her hands began to slide down his arms.

"Sounds like I wasn't the only one sitting on a confession, Granger," he replied as his gaze dropped to her lips; now it was her turn for her breath to catch in her throat.

"I do have something I'd like to tell you," she breathed.

Draco lowered his face to hers and brought his arms up until his hands found her waist once more. "Oh?"

She cleared her throat. "I have been wanting to confess," she whispered, "that I have wanted to shake you like that for a really long time." She grinned as a growl rumbled in Draco's chest.

He chose not to reply, and instead closed the gap between them, pressing his lips back to hers. It was not the tentative and uncertain kiss that they had shared first, nor the passionate frenzy of their second attempt. This was slow and sweet, and full of promises.

All too soon, Draco pulled away, unsure of how much longer he would be able to maintain decorum while in public. The witch had a heady affect on his mind and he was unwilling to trust his ability to hold back should she continue to make those delectable sounds against his mouth.

"How about lunch?" He murmured as he rested his forehead against hers.

Hermione nodded. "Sounds good."

* * *

Hermione arrived at work the next day in high spirits. She had woken to an owl from Draco that morning, asking her to dinner that night. Their date to Diagon Alley had not resulted in further discussion about their kiss, though he had brushed his lips against hers when he had brought her home later that afternoon.

She hummed as she pushed open her office door, but ceased the sound immediately upon entering it. Someone was sitting in one of the visitor's chairs; a red-headed, blue-eyed someone.

"Hermione," Ginny greeted her.

"Ginny!" Hermione hesitated in the doorway, her eyebrows shooting towards her hair line. "What are you doing here?"

"Shut the door," Ginny nodded past Hermione where some of her employees were beginning to congregate.

She did as she was told, locking the door and casting a  _muffliato_ spell for good measure.

"What's this about?" She asked flatly as she made her way to her desk.

The red-haired witch watched her movements with piercing blue eyes, not unlike her brother's.

"Ron told us," Ginny stated in her no-nonsense way. "About Malfoy."

"What about him?"

Ginny sighed. "Whatever is going on between you and Harry right now is your business; but he is my husband, and you are my friend…were my friend." Ginny's tone softened over the last three words and Hermione felt guilt settle unwelcome in her gut.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I didn't mean for you to get dragged in to our spat."

Ginny shrugged. "I'm not here on Harry's behalf, Hermione. I'm here because my brother arrived on our doorstep yesterday, blabbering on about seeing you and Malfoy in Diagon Alley." She shot Hermione a furtive glance. "He said that you were  _kissing._ "

Before Hermione could open her mouth to respond, she felt her cheeks heat.

"Aha!" Ginny pointed a finger at her chest, but her expression, while triumphant, was more intrigued than irate. "It's true! I can't believe it…well, actually, I can – but Ron was actually telling the truth! Harry thought he'd been hexed…"

Hermione allowed herself a small giggle at the thought of Harry clucking around Ron, performing anti-jinxes and frantically trying to reverse whatever had him speaking such utter nonsense. It was vindictive and petty, but it felt like she had finally achieved a small win in the battle against her two ex-best friends.

"So Malfoy?" Ginny raised an eyebrow and Hermione felt her stomach flip over.

"Yes," she said curtly. "I was kissing him."

"Are you dating him?"

"What is this, the Spanish inquisition?" She huffed and Ginny narrowed her eyes.

The red head stood, placing her palms flat on Hermione's desk and leaning forward. "Harry told me about the vial. He told me that you broke in to the Ministry archives to find whatever Lucius Malfoy hid before he was carted off to life imprisonment. He also admitted he was a total prat to you, but that's beside the point. I'm worried about you, and I won't leave here until I am convinced that you aren't just another pawn."

"I'm not a pawn," Hermione spat. "Draco and I have been through quite a lot in the past few months – during which, may I remind you,  _no one else_  has been there for me!"

Ginny had the decency to allow a flash of guilt cross her features. "I'm not judging," she countered.

"Could have fooled me."

"I am allowed to question the motives of the bigoted prat who made your time at Hogwarts difficult."

"Malfoy?" Hermione scoffed, her eyebrows raised. "Malfoy didn't make Hogwarts awful; Voldemort did!" Ginny didn't flinch, but Hermione detected the clench in her jaw as the name was uttered. "If you insist on pointing fingers, try Tom Riddle; he's the reason we landed on the side we did. I don't know how many times I have to say that Draco had as much choice as Harry did, it was just that he was born into a family who was on the opposing side. He was a child and he did not deserve what he got!"

"And Narcissa?"

"She was protecting her son," Hermione hissed. "And your husband wouldn't be here to pass judgment on those he deems unworthy of help if it wasn't for her. I owe a lot to Narcissa Malfoy; so do you."

Ginny exhaled forcefully through her nose. She pushed herself from her position against Hermione's desk and stood straight.

"I don't have time to argue with you over whether or not I'm doing the right thing by taking on the Malfoy case," Hermione sighed. "Is there something I can actually do for you?"

"No," Ginny shook her head, her gaze boring into Hermione's. "For what it's worth, I think I'm beginning to agree with you."

Hermione blinked; had she heard that correctly? Her heart leapt at the thought of having a friend on her side, but she quickly squashed the notion. She had been burnt before believing she had support from those who meant the most to her, only to have the rug pulled unceremoniously from beneath her.

"Look," Ginny licked her lips, "I never liked the bloke, but if you like him, then I trust you. I don't promise to become his best friend or drink from a goblet he offers me, but…I support your decision, if your decision is to date him."

"We're not dating," Hermione stated. "It's too soon for labels, and with Narcissa's case…" she trailed off and eyed Ginny, who nodded in understanding.

"I know how important that is to you," she said. "And I know Harry is doing everything in his power to hold it up. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yes, actually," Hermione allowed a small smile to grace her features. "Please tell Harry that I need the vial before the fifteenth; Narcissa's trial is first up and I need to view it before then."

"I'll do my best."

"Thank you."

Their tones were not what one would consider strictly friendly, but they were not openly hostile, either. Ginny had offered to help, and Hermione trusted her. It was a big thing for the red head to come here and speak to Hermione, given everything that had transpired between the Golden Trio.

As Ginny left, Hermione slumped in her chair; she had been so looking forward to dinner tonight, and now she just felt like crawling in to bed and sleeping until the entire debacle of Narcissa's trial was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has wished me and littlered1992 good health! I'm pleased to report that we are over our flu, for the most part! :D


	21. When it Rains, it Pours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that all's fair in love and war...but I wouldn't mention that to Hermione and Draco right now. Their relationship has just begun, but it's already being tested, this time by the creepy-crawly Rita Skeeter. A broody Draco, an irate Dewsong, and a visit from karma play out in this chapter, leading us to Narcissa's trial.

 

For the remainder of the day, Hermione stayed shut up in her office and worked continuously until six o’clock. Around lunch time, she briefly wondered why Blaise hadn’t shown up, before remembering that he had a meeting in Scotland with potential investors.

It was with a heavy sigh she finally put down her quill, collected her robes which she had shucked earlier that day, and made her way down to the Floos.

She landed in the Malfoy sitting room a little after six and was greeted by Miksy.

“Master is waiting for you in the dining room, Miss!” Miksy slipped her hand into Hermione’s and wasted no time in dragging her down the hallway. Hermione smelt dinner before they had reached the French doors of the dining room; hints of turmeric suggested something Indian.

As they rounded the corner, Draco’s platinum hair came into view. He was standing at the far end of the room, setting the table. His head was bowed as he lay cutlery either side of solid gold plates which sat on the white linen table cloth, sparkling in the light cast from the chandelier overhead. Hermione stopped in the entryway, her hand still clutched in Miksy’s grasp, and watched as the blond frowned down at the fork he had just placed, and moved to straighten it. Warmth bloomed within her chest, and Hermione couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

“Master Draco!” Miksy tugged on Hermione’s hand and skipped merrily towards the object of her fascination. “Miss Hermione is here, Sir!”

Draco’s head snapped up, his grey eyes immediately locking on to Hermione’s face. She watched as the steeliness melted slightly, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Granger,” he greeted softly. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” she stepped towards him.

He reached for her first, his hands finding her waist to pull her to him. She sighed as her arms slid around his middle, hugging him back.

“Rough day?” He murmured into hair.

“No rougher than usual,” she replied.  

He bent down swiftly to place a chaste kiss on her lips; Hermione melted into him for the brief duration that their lips were connected, and was surprised to note how she longed to deepen the kiss as he pulled away.

“Dinner is ready,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers. “I want to hear all about it.”

Hermione had to work hard to hide her shock when Draco told her that he had cooked the meal – butter chicken – with no help from the house elves. He told her that he had been learning how to cook and bake over the past six months, and his efforts were rewarded when Hermione placed a mouthful of steaming chicken and rice in her mouth and moaned in a way that made him feel hot under the collar.

After dinner and dessert (a delicious chocolate mousse), Draco wiped his mouth on his napkin before standing abruptly and offering Hermione his hand.

“I want to show you something,” he said with a smile.

Hermione accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her from the dining room and through enough corridors for her to become disorientated.

Her hand rested in his comfortably until they reached a large archway leading to a grand ballroom. Hermione felt her breath catch as she moved to stand in the middle of the space. Her heels slid across the highly polished wood of the floor, and she had to curl her toes to ensure she didn’t fall. She began to spin around, trying to commit the intricate detail of the wallpaper to memory; though she had never been the type of girl to get giddy over a dance area, Hermione had to admit that this room was simply breathtaking.

She jumped slightly as she felt Draco move up behind her. His breath was warm on her neck as he slid his hands around her waist, and she leaned back into him, enjoying the embrace for a moment before she turned and met his gaze. His eyes bored into hers, an emotion dancing within them Hermione could not name. She began to smile at him in return, but then he dropped into a graceful bow before standing straight once more and offering her his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

Hermione snapped her mouth shut and clasped her hand in his, albeit tentatively. “I’m not very good…”

Draco scoffed. “Please,” he pulled her against him, “I watched you at the Yule Ball.”

“You did?” Hermione tried to keep the shock from her voice and failed. From her position under his chin, she missed the way he smirked.

“Of course,” he said. “You were with Krum.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but did not respond. Music suddenly swelled from an invisible source and Draco began to lead them across the floor in a simple waltz. His hand resting on her waist pressed warmth through her blouse and her skin tingled beneath his touch. Her heart pounded in her chest, though she suspected it had nothing to do with the physical exertion of dancing. Draco’s scent wafted over her and befuddled her brain; being this close to him was having an interesting effect on her physical wellbeing.

As the music faded to nothing, Draco brought them to a stop on the edge of the dance floor. Even Hermione knew that it was customary for partners to bow and curtsey at the end of the dance, but as she moved to step back, Draco’s hold on her tightened. With a sharp inhale she glanced up to find him staring down at her, his eyes liquid pools of silver; they reminded her starkly of a pensieve.

“Hermione,” he murmured, his gaze dropping quickly to her lips and back up again. “I haven’t had the chance to properly thank you for what you’re doing, for my mother.”

“Of course,” Hermione replied. “She doesn’t deserve Azkaban.”

Draco winced slightly. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I know it hasn’t been easy…” he trailed off and licked his lips. Hermione felt her cheeks heat but she maintained eye contact. “Well, I mean, with us.” He finished lamely.

“Draco, you don’t need to thank me,” she smiled. “I’m not working to free your mother out of a sense of loyalty to you; it’s my job.”

“I just wish I could support you more,” his hold on her tightened and Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut at the way her skin tingled from being pressed against his front. “I know it’s better for Mother’s case if I stay away from you, but I still feel guilty.”

“Don’t,” Hermione urged, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek; he leant into it. “You’re doing enough behind closed doors.”

At that Draco smirked and allowed his gaze to drop to her lips again. His fingers pressed into the small of her back and he lowered his head, intent on bestowing a hot kiss on her lips. He was less than a centimetre away when the door to the ballroom opened and sharp footfalls forced the couple apart.

“Blaise.” Draco scowled at his Italian friend.

“Draco,” Blaise nodded stiffly. “Hermione.” He did not smile and Draco felt his frustration for the intrusion ebb away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Have you seen the _Evening Prophet_?”

“No,” Draco snorted. “I haven’t exactly got around to renewing – “

“Here,” Blaise ignored him, handing the folded paper to Hermione.

Draco moved to stand behind her, one hand on her waist as she unfolded it. Hermione gasped, and Draco swore as the picture on the front page swam in to view.

It was them – Draco and Hermione – in the middle of Diagon Alley on the day of his release; snogging. Hermione watched, rage rising in her like a tidal wave, as the photograph versions broke apart, smiling at each other. In any other circumstance, she may have thought the picture a sweet memento of their first kiss, but this – this only spelled trouble.

“That vile witch,” Hermione hissed between her teeth. “I’ll have Rita Skeeter for this, I’ll – “

“Easy there, Golden Girl,” Blaise said dryly. “The last thing we need is a media coup on top of everything else.”

Hermione snapped her mouth shut and glowered at the grim-looking Italian wizard. She knew that he was right, of course, but she couldn’t help the overwhelming desire to break out her bug-collecting gear that threatened to consume her.

“What do we do, then?” Draco looked between them, his gaze cold. “What does this mean for my mother?”

Hermione puffed out her cheeks and exhaled forcefully. “Nothing,” she shook her head. “We keep going as we have been, and hope to Merlin that Ginny can get through to Harry about the damn vial.”

She folded her arms across her chest and looked up at him; he refused to meet her gaze.

“Okay,” he nodded once, turned on his heel, and stormed from the room.

Hermione deflated.

“Don’t take it personally,” Blaise shrugged, his gaze fixed on the doorway Draco had just exited through.

“Easy for you to say,” Hermione sighed and blinked against the prickling feeling at the corners of her eyes.

“Trust me, Granger; he doesn’t want you to see him in this state – the fact he left without screaming or throwing something speaks volumes of his feelings for you. Expect his owl.”

With that, Blaise held out an arm and Hermione obliged him, stepping into a one-armed hug before he turned them to escort her from the Manor.

 

* * *

 

Hermione tossed and turned that night, finally falling into a fitful sleep around three in the morning. She woke, slightly disorientated at six, when a soft tapping at her window preceded her alarm. The owl was instantly recognisable; the proud looking eagle-owl was definitely from Draco. Feeling more awake than she should given her lack of rest, Hermione scrambled from her bed to take the letter from the bird.

It hooted once before taking flight; he obviously wasn’t expecting a reply. Hermione tried not to feel disappointed at that and concentrated instead on opening the note.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I’m sorry for storming away last night. I recognise that it was an immature move on my part, and a rather awful way to end what was, otherwise, a perfect night. I could give you a list of excuses, but I won’t because I’m sure you already understand them, and they do not make up for my poor behaviour._

_Please know that I deeply regret not sticking around for a proper kiss; I hope I can make it up to you soon. However, given what has transpired, I think it is best that we limit our contact to letters until Mother’s trial. I will be counting down the hours until I can see you again._

_Yours,_

_Draco_

Hermione was unsure of whether she wanted to laugh or cry; his letter was a relief in that he obviously wasn’t angry at her, but at the same time…Narcissa’s trial was still twelve days away. The thought of not seeing Draco in the lead up cause a hard lump to form in Hermione’s throat, which she desperately swallowed against. Surely it wasn’t normal to feel so disappointed so early on in their…relationship?

Sighing, she threw the letter on to her side table and turned towards her bathroom. She would head into work early, Hermione decided, and work herself into the ground until she was too exhausted to dwell on the blond who had gone from being the bane of her existence to….well, the bane of her existence.

Unfortunately, she was accosted before she could reach her office.

“Granger!” Dewsong greeted her the following morning.

Hermione jumped and turned to face him as she unlocked the door to her office. He had a half-eaten muffin in his hand, and some vanilla crumbs on his bottom lip. Hermione had to actively stop herself from recoiling.

“Mister Dewsong. What can I do for you?”

“In my office,” he snarled. “Now.”

A sinking feeling settled into Hermione’s stomach, only deepening as she followed meekly behind Dewsong.

As she entered his office, her boss took his large leather chair behind his desk and gestured vaguely for Hermione to perch in one of the two, considerably less comfortable, chairs on the opposite side.

“So,” he began, steepling his fingers over his large belly. “Is there anything you wish to tell me?”

Hermione frowned. “No, sir?”

Dewsong ground his back teeth together and waved a hand; a copy of yesterday’s _Evening Prophet_ dropped on to the desk in front of Hermione; her blood ran cold.

“Explain,” he spat.

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. This man was her boss, and the last thing she wanted was his ire; the Malfoy case was already balanced on a knife edge, and she wasn’t prepared for him to chop it completely. But his rudeness was uncalled for, despite what the paper suggested.

“It’s hype,” she said calmly. “Rita Skeeter has made a living by embellishing the truth.”

“I’m not interested in the tripe Rita has to offer,” Dewsong growled. “I want the truth; from you.”

“Fine,” Hermione said through gritted teeth. “I kissed Draco Malfoy; that is the truth.”

“Are you dating him?” Dewsong asked sharply.

“No,” Hermione shot back. “But if I was, it would no one else’s business.”

Dewsong made a noise of dissent in his throat. “It is my business, Granger. You do realise how this looks to the Wizengamot?”

“Yes,” she huffed. “But it shouldn’t; regardless of my feelings for Draco, Narcissa Malfoy is innocent.”

“And Lucius? What of him?”

Hermione sucked her lower lip into her mouth and averted her eyes. “The evidence should speak for him. Besides, Narcissa is ill; my plan is to request a temporary release, if necessary, so that he can be by her side.”

“You said you had a memory?”

“Had, being the keyword.”

“Well, get it back,” Dewsong thumped his desk and Hermione jumped. “You must realise what this looks like, Granger.” Hermione squirmed under his accusatory gaze but did not respond. “You’re spreading yourself too thin,” he slapped the paper. “I would hedge my bets on the Wizengamot calling your relationship with young Mister Malfoy into question; be prepared for that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And,” Dewsong’s eyes narrowed as his mouth curled into a vicious smile, “should you lose this case, you can kiss your job goodbye.”

Hermione nodded once before scurrying towards the door. On the other side, she took a moment to lean against it and collect herself. If she lost the case for Narcissa, she could not picture a scenario in which Draco would forgive her.

It was too early to put a label on what they were, but whatever it was, Hermione wasn’t ready for it to be over. With that sobering thought, her eyes flew open and she pushed herself away from the entrance to Dewsong’s office.

She returned to her own desk and instantly began filling out a stack of paperwork which would hopefully culminate in the release of the memory from the Auror department. Why they had agreed to keep it there rather than passing it on to the proper authorities, Hermione could only guess, though she was certain her guess was correct; Harry was holding out to ensure she would not have the evidence required at Narcissa’s trial.

Despite the churning unease in her gut, Hermione worked through until one o’clock, when there was a sharp rapping at her door. She had sealed it shut upon entering earlier that morning, and so far her employees had thought better than to disturb her.

At the sudden noise, she jumped, ready to snarl at whoever was on the other side to leave her alone, but then…

“Granger!” It was Blaise. “Merlin above, have you sealed the door?”

There was a swish of a wand, a mumbled spell, and the door flew open, banging against the office wall.

Hermione glared. “I was just about to unlock it.”

Blaise arched an eyebrow at her tone, but otherwise ignored the statement. “Let’s go,” he motioned with his head for her to get up. “I’m starving.”

“Oh, I can’t…” Hermione looked down at her desk, the grain no longer noticeable under the sheets of parchment spread over the top, and then back up at Blaise; at his frown, she trailed off.

“Get. Up.” He enunciated. “I will not let you sit here all day. You need food.”

“I can conjure a sandwich,” Hermione huffed.

“Draco would kill me,” Blaise deadpanned. “Up.”

“Fine,” Hermione grumbled, though now that he mentioned it, her stomach was feeling decidedly empty.

They traced their usual path down to the Atrium and then out into the grey September day. It did not take them long to reach their destination; a small café on the corner. The waitress greeted them as they made their way up the small path, and they took their usual table in the courtyard.

“How are you feeling?” Blaise asked.

“Great!” Hermione answered automatically.

Blaise quirked an eyebrow at her over the top of his menu. “Granger,” he prompted.

“Sorry,” she sighed, setting down the laminated piece of cardboard. “I forgot who I was talking to.” He smirked slightly, but did not press her. “I’m really worried,” she said softly. “I haven’t heard any more from Ginny, and I’m sure Harry is doing everything in his power to stop the memory being transferred to the Department of Mysteries…the vial may not be ready for the trial. And I swear to Merlin,” she lowered her voice to a whisper and leant forwards, “if one more Wizengamot witch sneers at me in the hallway, I’ll hex them.”

Blaise’s eyebrows shot up and he placed the menu in front of him.

“I know,” Hermione huffed. “I shouldn’t – “

“No,” Blaise cut her off. “Behind you.”

Hermione twisted in her seat and scanned the street, her gaze finally landing on an irate looking red headed wizard marching towards her.

“Ron,” she blinked. Ron Weasley stopped in front of their table, one arm loosely around the waist of his wife. Vivienne looked much the same as she always had; robes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a fashion magazine, and a snobby expression that could repel a lesser being far more effectively than pepper spray.

Hermione’s back stiffened. “Vivienne.”

The blonde witch did not acknowledge her, and Hermione was pleased to see the brief flash of panic in her eyes as Vivienne’s gaze slid to the Italian wizard in the opposite chair.

“You get around nowadays, don’t you?” Ron sneered, his gaze trained on Blaise.

Hermione’s mouth fell open. The audacity of her ex-fiancé was still a source of shock for her. He had always been crass, fiery, and had never mastered the ability to think before he spoke, but before the war ended she had never thought of him as _cruel_. There was no other description for him now.

As Hermione narrowed her eyes and poised herself to retaliate, Blaise stood. The metal legs of the chair scraped against the uneven pavement and he buttoned his jacket as if he was about to take the stand.

“Good to see you again,” he offered Vivienne a dazzling grin. Hermione bit down on her lower lip as a warm flush spread across the blonde’s cheeks, her eyes wide. “I almost didn’t recognise you with clothes on.”

Slowly, seductively, Blaise dragged his full lower lip in to his mouth and sank his teeth into the flesh. If this had been any other witch, in any other situation, his prey would have been under his spell immediately. Vivienne only choked.

Hermione watched Ron; the tips of his ears had turned red and his fists were balled at his sides. He looked from Blaise to Vivienne, and back again.

“What, mate?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Blaise drawled lazily. He turned his attention to the seething wizard. “Did she not tell you? How odd…” he tapped his index finger against his chin in a mock expression of deep thought. “She definitely told her cousins because they’re avoiding me like the plague; I just assumed you would have heard as well.” He flashed a cold smile at Ron, before throwing a lewd wink at Vivienne.

The latter looked incredibly green and Hermione suddenly wondered if they were safely out of the splash zone, should Vivienne lose her lunch.

For a moment, the scene appeared as a tableau from the outside, but then Ron moved. He swung his arm back, his hand curled into a white-knuckled fist. Hermione didn’t think; she pulled out her wand and pointed it at the man she once loved but no longer recognised.

Ron caught the movement of her arm out of the corner of his eye and a fleeting look of recognition crossed his face; he remembered what had happened last time she had pulled her wand on him, in Azkaban. Ron’s fist stopped mere inches from Blaise’s face before it fell like a deflating balloon, back to his side.

His gaze fell on Hermione and stayed there, but the brunette witch had placed her attention on Vivienne, who had moved during the exchange, her hands now covering her mouth as her eyes darted from one wizard to the other.

For a moment, nobody moved, but then Blaise broke the tense silence. “I think it’s time to take your garbage away, Greengrass.” He wrinkled his nose as he glanced over at Ron.

“Fuck you, Zabini!” Ron spat as he brought his attention back to the Italian wizard.

“Well, why not?” Blaise deadpanned. “It’d make you even with your wife.”

 


	22. The Last Re-Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The re-trial of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy starts, and Draco is acting colder than Elsa in "Frozen". Let's hope Hermione can pull this off...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Roses are red**
> 
> **Violets are blue**
> 
> **I don't own Harry Potter**
> 
> **This is sad, but true**
> 
> _**Beta love going out, as always, to littlered1992!** _
> 
> * * *

Ron and Vivienne Weasley lived in a modest apartment in an all-magical neighbourhood. Luckily, for them, because the ruckus currently coming from their place of residence was nothing a Muggle would have been able to pass off as normal.

"What the fuck do you mean they blackmailed you?" Ron yelled as he dodged another stunning spell.

Vivienne was wild, her hair in complete disarray as she ducked back down behind the kitchen counter. She had always known Ron had a temper, but she had never seen him this angry before.

"They tricked me," she squealed as his footsteps thundered closer. "Zabini lured me into that hotel room and Granger came to see me the next day with proof – "

"Proof?" Ron hissed as he rounded the kitchen island. He crouched to the floor and Vivienne shuffled backwards in an effort to get away from him. "There's  _proof_?"

She raised her wand again, but Ron was too quick for her. He lunged, wrapping his large hand around her bony wrist, tugging it up and over her head so she was unable to defend herself; she whimpered pathetically as his cold blue eyes glared down at her.

"Zabini –," she choked, "- he…he filmed it."

Ron growled, but he loosened his grip on her wrist, allowing her to lower it back into her lap. He slumped away from her, his head falling with a thud against the kitchen cabinets.

_"_ Where is the film now?" He asked in a whisper.

"Granger has it."

"Right."

There was a pause filled with an uncomfortable silence. Vivienne squirmed, though her husband was not looking at her.

"I'm sorry," she finally squeaked out. "I don't know what I was – "

"Save it," he spat, snapping his head around to glare at her. "You knew what you were doing; just like I knew what I was doing when I fucked you the day I was supposed to marry Hermione. I only hope you live to regret it as much as I do now."

With that he rose from the floor, dusted off his pants and turned on his heel. On his way out of the kitchen, he called; "Oh, and I want a divorce!" before slamming the front door shut, leaving Vivienne wide-eyed and slack-jawed on the linoleum.

She sat there for what felt like hours, tears silently pouring down her cheeks. It wasn't fair! This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Vivienne Weasley – nee Greengrass – always got what she wanted. Since when had Hermione Granger been fit to change that?

With a renewed sense of purpose, Vivienne swiped the back of her wrist over her face, clearing it of the evidence of her emotional outburst. Clambering to her feet, she stumbled towards the empty fire place. Using her wand, she lit the kindling before throwing a handful of green powder into the flames.

She collapsed to her knees and tucked a stray hair behind her ear, being careful not to inhale this close to the grate. Vivienne leant forward slightly until her face was completely covered in emerald green light.

"Daddy?" She sniffed as the connection was made. "I need your help."

* * *

On the day of Narcissa's trial, Hermione was awake before dawn. She sat in her kitchen, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee, pouring over all the notes she had made since Draco was released in March. Her fingers tightened around the mug as she read over the part in the trial outline which stated that Narcissa would not be present at the trial; they had said that she was too ill to make the journey, especially if she was only going to be made to turn around and head back to Azkaban after the fact.

She did not want to admit it, but there was a very real possibility that Hermione could lose the trial today. With a sigh, she stood and moved to wash her cup, tipping the rest of the greyish liquid down the sink before soaking it in warm water.

Ginny had visited her on Friday and said that she had tried to get Harry to see reason, but they had ended up in a fight. Hermione couldn't help feeling frustrated as Ginny sniffled in her office. It had seemed out of character for Ginny to be so upset over a spat with Harry – they'd had plenty before now.

Her lack of sympathy hadn't gone unnoticed by the red-head and Ginny had left in a bit of a huff. Hermione couldn't bring herself to care, however, not with so much more at stake.

At eight o'clock Hermione landed in the Atrium and walked quickly towards the lifts, her briefcase clutched tightly in her hand. She spotted Blaise before she reached the elevator; he offered her a tight smile and a nod in greeting, before falling into silent steps beside her.

Outside of the courtroom door, Draco was standing against the wall, his posture stiff. It took all of Hermione's self-control not to run to him; seeing him, even as he refused to meet her gaze, made her realise how much she had missed him over the past week and a half.

Locking her arms by her side, Hermione forced herself to smile as she and Blaise approached him, but he did not return the sentiment.

"Granger," he nodded. "Blaise."

While his tone was soft, the use of her last name stung a little. They had been in regular contact via owl, and he had always addressed his missives to  _Hermione_. She swallowed against the hurt; there would be time to discuss their relationship later.

"Mister Malfoy," she replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Where's my mother?" His cold eyes bored into hers, but Hermione had the distinct impression that he wasn't seeing her.

"She's still in Azkaban, mate," Blaise answered, noting the stricken look on Hermione's face.

"Why?"

"They aren't going to bring her all the way here on the first day of the trial," Hermione answered in a wobbly voice. She cleared her throat. "It could take a few sittings until we get a verdict, especially without that memory…"

Draco's hands clenched at his side and Blaise eased an arm around the blond. Hermione looked between them, an icy hand grasping her heart and squeezing, until she felt as though it might pop out of her throat.

"Come on, Draco," said Blaise. "Let's go and take our seat." He lifted his chin towards the door.

"Fine," Draco grunted, still staring at Hermione.

"I'll see you afterwards," she promised with a meek wave.

Blaise inclined his head as he steered Draco into the courtroom, his gaze lingering on hers long enough to offer a half-hearted apology.

Hermione let out a shaky breath as she followed ten paces behind them. She had expected Draco to be distant, aloof even, but she hadn't expected him to be so cold towards her.

_He's just stressed,_ she reasoned with herself.  _Once this is all over…_

But she couldn't finish the thought. Who knew when the trial would be finished? And if Narcissa wasn't granted release…Hermione cut that thought off with a hard swallow and found her seat in the middle of the circular room.

Members of the Wizengamot were also filing in and taking their seats slightly above where she stood on a small, round platform. She knew Draco and Blaise, and a number of other curious magical citizens were sitting in the stands behind her; Draco's gaze was almost tangible on the back of her neck and she raised a hand subconsciously to rub the tingling sensation away.

Her hand fell back to her side as the doors to the chamber opened and in walked a portly man wearing robes of a deep chocolate brown. His blond hair was thinning, but he had parted it severely to the side, combing the sparse strands over the bald patch. He walked with a sense of over-inflated importance, shooting Hermione a triumphant grin as he took the steps up to the stands.

"Good morning," he boomed as he came to a halt in the middle of the Wizengamot. "My name is Gabriel Greengrass, and I will be overseeing this trial in place of Minister Jenkins, who is out of the country."

Hermione's stomach settled somewhere around her knees and she exhaled forcefully through her mouth. She had never met the man, but knew him by name; Vivienne's father had immense pull over the Ministry and practically lived in the pockets of Evan Jenkins, the Minister for Magic.

Jenkins was the descendent of former-Minister Eugenia Jenkins, and was even more useless when faced with an actual challenge. He was nothing more than a pencil-pusher, pocket-liner, puppet of a Minister, Hermione doubted very much that he had simply forgotten the date of the Malfoy retrial and scheduled a meeting out of the country; the whole situation reeked of Vivienne's manipulation.

Scrunching her hands into fists, Hermione schooled her features into an expression of polite nonchalance as Mister Greengrass continued to address the assembly.

"We are here to conduct a second trial for Mister Lucius Malfoy and Mrs Narcissa Malfoy, on account of new evidence being brought to light since the release of their son, Draco Malfoy." He shuffled some parchment and then gazed down at Hermione. "Please state your name."

"Hermione Granger," she said clearly.

"Miss Granger, you have brought the case to the attention of the Wizengamot for the fifth time now, is that correct?"

"Yes, Sir."

Greengrass passed a piece of parchment to the purple-haired witch next to him, who began to scribble upon it using a short white quill, but his attention never wavered from Hermione's face. A smirk slowly slid across his features as he crossed his arms.

"Please deliver your opening statement."

Hermione took a deep breath. No longer nervous, she moved to stand at the corner of her podium, addressing a greying witch with a kind face.

"Narcissa Malfoy is a victim of circumstance," she said. "She was never a Death Eater, she never committed murder or any other heinous crime during the time of Voldemort's rein," she paused to allow some gasps to subside at her audacity to mention his name, "and she does not deserve life imprisonment. You saw fit six months ago to grant Draco Malfoy a conditional release, based on a house arrest agreement. I am here today seeking the same outcome for his mother, and his father."

At this point, Hermione moved to stand at the other corner, now facing the Wizengamot members seated in the right-hand stands.

"Lucius Malfoy acted out of sheer terror; his family was threatened at a time in which he felt vulnerable and stuck. Though he may once have desired the inclusion to Tom Riddle's group, I believe that he felt no such draw during the Second Wizarding War. While I understand that there must be consequences for those who choose to behave in ways that are unacceptable in our society, I believe Lucius has already paid his dues in Azkaban, and that Narcissa shouldn't have to suffer at home without her husband."

Hermione returned to the centre and addressed Mister Greengrass again.

"Thank you," she said, before clasping her hands in front of her and waiting further instruction.

"Miss Granger," Greengrass began in an oily voice. "Is it true that you are in a romantic relationship with Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione's inhale caught in her throat as every member of the Wizengamot leant forward, keen to hear her answer. She noticed a few familiar faces; the old witch who had tutted at her as she passed her in the corridor three days ago, and a wizard with long yellow hair who had positively sneered at her while she ordered a latte from the café down the street last Wednesday.

As she opened her mouth to respond, she was cut off by a cold voice over her shoulder.

"I hardly see how that is anyone's business but mine, and Miss Granger's."

Hermione whipped around. Draco was standing in the middle of the spectator stands, his arms folded across his chest. He arched a threatening eyebrow at Vivienne's father, completely ignorant to Hermione's loaded glare. Blaise caught the blazing look in her eyes, however, and tugged on Draco's elbow to force him to sit down again; he remained unmoved.

"Mister Malfoy," Mister Greengrass grinned. "Would you care to weigh in?"

"Yes, I would bloody like to weigh in," Draco spat. "How dare you question Miss Granger's integrity; she's the only witch in this Merlin forsaken hell-hole that does her job properly!"

"Are you suggesting that the Wizengamot is unable to handle its affairs in a way that matches Miss Granger's…abilities?" He leered over the last word and Hermione choked on the bile that burned up her sternum.

"I'm not  _suggesting_ it. I'm stating it."

There was a collective gasp from the Wizengamot, and a silent groan from Hermione, who slumped against the lectern and willed Draco to stop.

"Guards," Greengrass looked to his left. Two burly wizards in white robes stepped forward, grinning menacingly at Draco.

All colour drained from his face as he uncrossed his arms and fixed his gaze on the men. They continued through the stands until they reached him, wrapping one of his arms in both of theirs, and then escorting him from the courtroom.

"No!" He was saying, though he did not fight them; for this, Hermione was grateful. "Please, I need to know if – " His voice was cut off as soon as the doors slammed shut.

Hermione straightened; she knew she would have to fight twice as hard now. Blaise offered her a stiff nod and she steeled her resolve.

Greengrass shook his head as he watched the closed doors, as if expecting further outbursts from the young Mister Malfoy. After a few moments he seemed satisfied that they would not be interrupted again and turned his attention back to Hermione.

"You said you have new evidence to present to us today. What would you like to put forward?"

"I have a diary." Hermione stepped forward and offered the leather-bound journal to the purple-haired witch. "You'll see that the entries in the diary link to the code I discovered amongst Mister Malfoy Senior's belongings in the underground archives."

"I see," Greengrass peered down his nose at Hermione, a faint and sinister smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Hermione swallowed thickly and forced herself to remain looking forward; the desire to avert her eyes to the door Draco had disappeared through earlier was overwhelming.

"Anything else of value?"

"N-no, Sir," Hermione stammered. She licked her lips and clasped her hands in front of her; she wanted to mention the memory, aware of Blaise's gaze boring in to the back of her head, but she was certain that should she open her mouth to articulate this, Greengrass would do everything in his power to prevent the memory from ever entering a Wizengamot chamber.

"I don't have – " she was cut off as the door to the chamber flew open, bouncing off the wall with a deafening bang. Hermione whipped around, eyes wide, expecting to see a platinum blond blur come streaking through, but it wasn't Draco.

"Harry?" She whispered.

The panting wizard skidded to a stop beside her and she looked at him in awe; he did not meet her gaze. Instead, he raised his right hand which was curled into a fist and directed his attention towards Mister Greengrass, who /was looking down at the source of the wild intrusion with resigned respect.

"Harry Potter," he stated for the court. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

There were a few soft chuckles and Hermione scowled up into the stands; had they no decorum?

"Mister Greengrass," Harry nodded, still holding his arm over his head. "I have evidence to support the case of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy."

Hermione gasped in unison with the rest of the crowd in the court room. Her eyes prickled with tears of relief and she blinked them back.

Greengrass recovered before anyone else, barking orders to summon a pensieve, and before Hermione had properly wrapped her head around what was happening, she was standing in a small circle around the solid grey object.

The purple-haired witch, who Hermione took to be the Wizengamot record keeper, had appeared at her left, while Harry was stationed on her right. Both of them were looking down in to the swirling mist as another Wizengamot member uncorked the vial and lifted it over the pensieve. The memory spilled effortlessly into the bowl, mixing with the contents until a small rectangular window began to grow from the centre. From where Hermione was standing, it appeared that they were standing above a small, well lit room, but she could not make out anything further.

"On three," Greengrass called from his position in the stands. "One, two, three." He counted them in and they dipped their faces towards the pensieve at the same time. For a moment Hermione was falling, sailing past barely-there grey clouds, and then her feet found solid ground.

They had landed in a familiar, circular room; Dumbledore's study. The wizened headmaster sat behind his large wooden desk in robes of deep plum, his hands steepled in front of him as he gazed at his visitor over the tops of his fingertips.

Narcissa's gaze was fixated on his left hand; blackened and withering. Hermione instantly placed the memory in the Summer of 1996 – just before Draco was set to return to Hogwarts for his sixth year.

Behind Dumbledore stood a tall, thin figure, half hidden in the shadows. Snape watched the exchange before him with unbridled disdain, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

"Please," Narcissa was saying. "Please, help Draco."

"Mrs Malfoy," Dumbledore smiled kindly, "I can assure you that no harm will come to Draco while he is at Hogwarts."

Rather than assuring the blonde witch, Dumbledore's words only seemed to agitate her more. She shuffled restlessly in her seat, her fingers knotted together in her lap.

"What about holidays?" She whispered. "My husband –," she cleared her throat delicately, "- he says that  _he_  might be spending quite a bit of time at the Manor and I worry that Draco will become a target during his ire…" she trailed of, somewhat lamely, and Hermione resisted the urge to reach forward to comfort the distressed older witch.

"Of course, Mister Malfoy is more than welcome to stay here over the holidays," Dumbledore conceded. "In fact, I suggest you tell Voldemort – " Narcissa recoiled so violently she almost tumbled from her chair. Hermione watched Snape, whose jaw had locked, but he did not say anything. "- that he is staying back to work on his task." Dumbledore finished as if he had not just witnessed the near-fainting of the Malfoy matriarch.

"You know about that?" She gasped.

"Of course he does," Snape snapped. "I told him."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at the Potions master, but addressed Dumbledore when she spoke. "He's just a boy," she whispered.

"Indeed." Dumbledore lowered his hands to the table and offered Narcissa a warm but meaningful smile. "As are some of his peers; they are all fighting a man's war, Mrs Malfoy. Our job is, of course, to protect them." He shot a meaningful look over his shoulder and Snape reluctantly stepped forward.

"I have a plan," the greasy Potion's master said. "Visit me with your sister, and ask me to help Draco. If I have read Bellatrix correctly, she will force us into making an Unbreakable Vow; Draco will not be the one to carry out the Dark Lord's wishes." For the briefest of seconds, his aloof expression changed to one of uncertainty, but his mask was back in place before Hermione could be sure of what she was seeing. "I will be," he finished quietly.

Narcissa's back stiffened impossibly at this statement. "You? But I don't – "

"Severus' plan is foolproof," Dumbledore interjected. "And the less you know of his position, the better." His gaze was stern, as was his tone. "Will you do as he has suggested, and bring your sister to Spinner's End before the start of the term?"

"Yes." Narcissa visibly crumpled, falling forward slightly until her forearms braced her against the desk. Her shoulders began to shake erratically, but she made no noise as she sobbed.

For a moment, no one moved, and Hermione wondered if the memory was over. Then, Dumbledore rose slowly from his chair, and Narcissa's head rose to meet his gaze.

"Mrs Malfoy," the Headmaster said, "I hope you'll understand that I need to ensure that you do not feed this information back to Tom Riddle." He looked sternly over his half-moon glasses at the blonde witch, who nodded quickly and stood.

"Of course," she swallowed thickly. "Anything."

"Will you wear this?" He handed her a seemingly non-remarkable silver chain with a small, round pendant on it.

Narcissa's eyebrows almost disappeared into her hair, but she reached slowly for the necklace, clasping the cool piece of jewellery between her long, thin fingers.

"Of course," she breathed. "What is it?"

"It is a rather ingenious invention, if I do say so myself," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as Narcissa worked to clasp the pendant around her neck. "The silver is imbued with an anti-dote for Veritaserum, as well as protective charms against attempts of legilimency. You will not be able to speak of this meeting to anyone; if you try, the necklace is jinxed to strangle the wearer before you will be able to finish the sentence."

Narcissa blanched, but Dumbledore looked as calm as if he had simply been commenting on the unseasonably cold weather Scotland had been experiencing.

"What about Lucius?" Narcissa whispered, her fingers toying with the chain.

"I'll tell him," Snape stepped forward, his sallow features thrown into sharp relief. "If and when it becomes necessary."

Narcissa pursed her lips, looking as though she was poised to argue, but after a few silent seconds she nodded.

"I agree," she said. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore."

"Not at all, my dear," Dumbledore clasped one of Narcissa's hands in both of his. "Anything you need."

With one last curt nod, Narcissa turned and swept from the room. The slam of the door closing echoed around them as the scene dissolved, and Hermione, Harry, and the purple-haired witch were hurtling back towards the present day.

The purple-haired witch stepped forward as soon as they landed back in the chamber and recounted the events in a clear, slightly high-pitched voice. Hermione's hands twisted together as she spoke, willing her to hurry up. This was it, she could feel it. The Malfoys had the word of Dumbledore, and Snape; there was no way the Wizengamot could rule that Narcissa deserved Azkaban…

"I wish to speak on behalf of Narcissa Malfoy." Harry's voice startled Hermione out of her premature celebrations. The purple-haired witch had stopped talking and had once again taken her seat next to Greengrass.

Hermione turned slowly to face Harry; his lips were pressed together in a determined line. She met his gaze, but though the emerald eyes were burning with something, she was unsure if it signalled his desire to help or hinder the case.

"I call Harry Potter as a witness," Hermione said, her voice shaking slightly.

Harry moved to stand beside Hermione. She turned to him, trying to convey wordlessly that if he screwed this up for her, she would ensure he never became a father by removing a very important appendage; his expression remained blank.

In any other case, Hermione would have called for a break, but she knew that the Wizengamot would construe that as consorting with a witness, and she could not jeopardise this case any further than she had already.

Steeling her resolve, she asked Harry to give his statement, internally praying that it was going to benefit Narcissa.

"Narcissa Malfoy saved my life," Harry replied instantly.

Hermione was slightly taken aback, but motioned for him to continue. Pockets of whispering had broken out at Harry's abrupt introduction, but as he continued, the room fell to silence once more.

"During the Final Battle, Voldemort and I duelled, as many of you already know. It was during this battle that he eradicated the piece of his soul that had resided in me for the last sixteen years; he removed the horcrux with a killing curse, but he did not kill me. Of course, I knew that if he became aware of what had transpired in the clearing before I had a chance to return to Hogwarts, I would die for sure.

"Narcissa Malfoy was sent to check if I was really dead. She leant over me, put her hand over my heart – " Harry mimicked her action, placing his own palm flat across his chest, " – and bent to hear my breathing. She knew I was alive the second she came into contact with me, but she did not stand immediately. She whispered in my ear, asking if Draco was inside the castle; I told her he was. She then stood and declared to Lord Voldemort that I was dead.

"If she had told the truth, I would not be standing here giving this testimony today. I owe her my life; she is the reason I was able to defeat Tom Riddle as an equal, in the end."

Harry shrugged as he came to the end of his story. It seemed as if everyone in the chamber had been holding their breath for the duration of his speech; you could have heard a pin drop.

Hermione shattered the silence by clearing her throat. "And Lucius? Do you have anything you wish to say of him?"

"Actually, yes," Harry said slowly. He frowned slightly, staring Hermione directly in the eye. "After I returned to Hogwarts and we resumed battle, I saw the Malfoys – Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco – leave together. They did not fight in the end, and I believe that Lucius and Narcissa were both wandless for the duration of the night."

"Really?" Greengrass condescending tone sliced through the tense air like a hot knife through butter. "And what makes you think that was the case?"

"Lucius carried his wand in his cane; his cane was nowhere to be seen at any point. And Narcissa had given hers to Draco; I saw him with it during the battle."

"Speculation," Greengrass sneered. Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Harry's sudden grip on her wrist stopped her just in time. "We will reconvene next week," he began to shuffle papers in front of him, passing some to the purple-haired witch. "That's all for – "

"Wait!" Hermione snatched her wrist away and stormed up to stand in front of him, glaring at Greengrass. "I wish to present my closing statement."

There was a collective gasp around the courtroom; a closing statement meant the case would be finalised at the end of its presentation. Hermione knew she was taking a risk, but it wasn't as risky as leaving the Wizengamot to cool off in a week's time, and potentially drag the case out beyond Narcissa's capacity and will to live.

"Fine," Greengrass spat through gritted teeth. Hermione was pleased to see that she had rattled him. "Make it brief."

"I wish to point out that Narcissa wore that necklace Dumbledore gave her to ensure she never told anyone about the plan; she became an ally to the Order of the Phoenix as soon as she entered the Headmaster's study that day." She licked her lips and moved her gaze across the crowd. "Narcissa is also very sick; an innocent woman, such as Mrs Malfoy, should not be forced to live out her last days rotting in a prison cell." Hermione had to stop there, blinking back the tears that threatened.

"And as for Lucius," she continued when the tightness in her throat had eased, "Snape must have told him about the plan, or else the diary and letter I gave to you before would never have existed. Snape clearly trusted Lucius, and Dumbledore trusted Snape; therefore, it stands to reason that Lucius was also trustworthy." She cleared her throat; the last sentence sat uncomfortably in her mouth.

"It was also Lucius who told me where to find the evidence. I believe that this information proves that the Malfoys had defected before the end of the war; they were on our side, and therefore should not spend any further time in Azkaban. Thank you."

There was instant murmuring as Hermione finished, stepping backwards until she hit the lectern.

"Silence!" Greengrass hissed. It immediately fell, and he glared down at Hermione, his face turning a disturbing shade of purple. "I suspend this case on the grounds of Miss Granger's obvious conflict of interest!" He declared suddenly, triumphantly.

Hermione gasped, but before the feelings of despair and frustration could truly take hold, sounds of dissent came from the Wizengamot. Greengrass looked behind him, glaring at the members of the court; they paid him no mind.

"She gave the closing statement," a middle-aged gentleman sitting behind Greengrass called. "It's time to vote!"

Noises of agreement whispered through the crowd, and Greengrass pursed his lips as he gazed at Hermione, pure and utter loathing burning in his eyes.

"Fine!" He bellowed, throwing his arms wide. "All those in favour of pardoning Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy for their parts in the war against He Who Must Not Be Named?"

Hermione would have rolled her eyes at the fact that Gabriel Greengrass could not bring himself to say  _Voldemort_ , but her heart was in her throat as she watched the Wizengamot deliberate.

One by one, the members of the Wizengamot raised their hands. At final count, they had an almost unanimous vote. Her gaze flicked along the sea of faces to settle back on Greengrass; he looked livid.

"Fine," he repeated, gathering the parchment in front of him and throwing them at his assistant who, to her credit, caught them. Without a backwards glance, he hurried from the raised stands, only pausing once he got to the door to shoot Hermione a menacing look before disappearing from the chamber.

Though she knew that Gabriel Greengrass was not the sort of person she wanted as her enemy, Hermione could not bring herself to dwell on his threatening glare. A sense of overwhelming relief settled about her like a cloak; she had done it.

She whirled around with the intent of locating Blaise, but she was stopped mid-turn by Harry.

"Well done, Hermione," he said solemnly. "I'm sorry that I – "

"Later," she said, holding her hand up to stop him mid-sentence. "I need to find Draco."

Blaise suddenly appeared at her side, as if he had apparated down from the stands. Without a word, they nodded to each other before hurrying across the highly polished wooden floor and through the doorway.

Draco was unmistakeable, crouching at the end of the corridor, his platinum blond head in his hands. He did not look up as they approached, nor did he face them when the toes of their shoes came in to his field of vision.

"She did it," Blaise finally said after a few seconds of painful silence. "Granger freed your mother."

It was like watching ice melt but in fast forward; Draco stood abruptly and wrapped Hermione in his arms, crushing her to his chest.

"Thank you," he choked in to her hair as he held her to him.

Her arms lifted to rest on the middle of his back, tracing soothing circles against his spine as he clung to her. Her throat constricted as they stood in the corridor, the realisation of what she had accomplished finally hitting her. Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione gripped the back of Draco's jacket and buried her face further into his chest.

For a few seconds he was oblivious, but then her shoulders began to shake and he pulled back, forcing her to look at him by tilting her chin up. With the pads of his thumbs, he removed the tears from her cheeks before bending to bestow a fierce kiss on her lips.

There was no tongue and it was over in a matter of seconds, but the feeling in it threatened to send Hermione into even further hysterics. She stumbled slightly as he pulled away, but another hand between her shoulder blades finally grounded her.

"Come on," Blaise said as he lowered his hand from Hermione's back. "We'd better go and find out what time we can expect Narcissa home."

Hermione pulled away, but Draco kept one arm firmly around her waist as they moved to follow Blaise back down the corridor. Harry trailed behind, hovering until he stopped in his tracks and simply called; "I'll Floo you later, Hermione!"

The brunette witch waved over her shoulder but did not turn around. She was more than grateful that Harry had come through at the last minute, but that didn't automatically erase months of being let down by her supposed best friend.

Yes, she would Floo him later – but after she knew that Narcissa was back under the Manor's roof, and she had properly spoken to Draco.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**A massive shout out to my friend mhcalamas for making me an aesthetic to go with this fic! She's also a super talented writer who has been generous enough to allow me to pre-read some of her work! :D xx** _


	23. When It All Falls Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa and Lucius return from Azkaban, but their arrival at the Manor is anything but a happy affair. Hermione struggles with figuring out where she now stands with Draco; Pansy and Lucius both cause drama - and there's a cliffhanger.

As evening fell, the trio waited anxiously in the sitting room, their ears straining for the familiar rush of the Floo.

Blaise lounged on the three-seater, one foot on the ground while the other leg relaxed along the length of the couch. His demeanour was calm, but by the way he held his shoulders, stiff and slightly hunched forward, Hermione knew that he was as tense as she.

Draco had been pacing for fifteen minutes; after ten, she asked if he would like to sit down, but he hadn’t responded – not even with a look – and so she fell silent again. He held his arms stiffly at his side, and with his long strides he looked as if he were marching into battle; Hermione reminded herself that in some ways, he was.

Hermione had positioned herself in the corner of the room, as far away from the fireplace as possible. She figured that Draco would need his space when meeting his parents for the first time in five years, and she wasn’t sure how Lucius would react, seeing her in his home, even if she was the reason the patriarch was able to set foot in it again.

“Granger,” Blaise said, his deep voice slicing through the silence like a hot knife through butter.

Hermione raised her head to look at him, and as she did so the room filled with a green glow. She gasped and stepped backwards, pressing her spine into the wall. Blaise’s eyes widened and he scrambled to stand. Draco simply froze, mid-step, staring wide-eyed in to the dissipating flames.

“Hello, son.” Lucius stepped through first, dressed in ragged grey robes that looked about three sizes too small. “Mister Zabini.” He turned to Blaise and offered a stiff nod. “Lovely to see you.”

Hermione waited with bated breath as his eyes came to rest on her poor choice of hiding place. He did not greet her, however, choosing to simply sneer and then move away from the grate, watching it expectantly.

Draco still hadn’t moved.

The Floo roared to life again, and this time two Ministry official wizards stepped out, a limp figure floating behind them.

Suddenly, Draco lunged forward, knocking Lucius sideways and almost colliding with one of the officials. “Mother!” He choked. “What have you done to her?”

He did not look up from his position, kneeling beside the unresponsive form of Narcissa as she floated horizontally, a foot from the floor.

“We need you to sign this,” the official said. He held a wooden clipboard towards Draco, who ignored him. His hands fluttered over his mother, over her face, her hands, readjusting her flimsy prison-issued sack.

_Why hadn’t they changed her?_

“Draco?” Lucius drawled. “The quicker you sign, the quicker they can leave.”

Hermione did not miss the way Lucius directed his statement to her.

“Draco?” Blaise tried, moving slowly towards the blond, his hands raised in a surrender.

Silence.

Hermione pushed herself off from the wall and came up behind him. Softly, she placed a shaking hand on his shoulder. He jumped slightly but did not make to throw it off.

“Draco,” she whispered. “You need to sign -”

“Alright!” he snarled. He snatched the clipboard, used the proffered quill to quickly scribble his name on the dotted line, and then stood, thrusting the piece of wood into the chest of the guard. “Now get out.”

The officials nodded to Hermione, and then departed via the Floo. As soon as they were gone, Lucius stepped up to Draco.

“We need to get her to our quarters.” He nodded down at Narcissa but did not look at her. “I trust you’ve prepared them?”

“Miksy has,” Draco said, his voice strained. “I’ll take her up.”

Shakily, he pulled his wand from his back pocket. Hermione watched as Lucius eyed it hungrily; an uneasy feeling twisted in her gut, but there was no time to analyse it, as Draco reversed the spell that was keeping Narcissa afloat. Gently, he lowered her to the ground, before pocketing his wand and stooping to collect her frail form in his arms.

As he raised himself into a standing position, he met Hermione’s gaze. She was unable to stop the tears from cascading down her cheeks as he held his mother, the tenderness coupled with the unfairness of it all too much for her heart to handle.

“Wait for me?” It was barely a whisper, but Hermione heard it and nodded in response. Without looking back, he swept from the room.

“Well, Granger,” Blaise said, moving towards her. “You did it. Well done.”

“Thank you.” She used the back of her hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I just hope Narcissa is okay.”

He did not respond to that, his lips settling into a thin line. “I’m going to head up to bed, give you guys some privacy. Are you okay on your own until Draco gets back?”

“Of course.” She nodded. “Thank you…for everything.”

Blaise shrugged as he began to walk backwards. “You’re welcome.” With that he turned on his heel, and Hermione was left alone.

She was unsure whether she should continue standing where she was, or whether she should take a seat. She didn’t want to appear too at home, still uncertain where she stood with the blond wizard after everything that had transpired in the last week and a half. Of course, it seemed silly – his letters had been warm and frequent, but…

Hermione sighed and moved quickly toward her armchair. She folded herself into it, trying not to feel too impatient. Of course, she understood that Draco needed time with his mother; she wanted that for them, too. But she couldn’t help feeling on edge as she waited.

After what felt like a lifetime had passed, footsteps finally sounded down the hallway. Hermione stood, a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth as they came closer. She prepared herself to welcome him with a pleasant expression, folding her hands in front of her so she wouldn’t be tempted to fidget, a sure sign that she was nervous.

But it wasn’t Draco who rounded the corner.

“Miss Granger.” Hermione’s smile fell as Lucius greeted her, an all too familiar smirk on his face. “I believe we have a few things to discuss.”

“Oh?” Hermione quirked an eyebrow, the frustration that had been slowly building as she waited for Draco finally bubbling over. “Would you like to start with the grovelling, or end with it?”

His smirk slipped, his expression becoming one of disgust. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry.” Hermione sneered. “I thought I’d just freed your entire family from the fate of rotting to death inside Azkaban; was that a dream I concocted?”

“There’s no need to be so dramatic, Miss Granger,” he hissed. “I am eternally grateful for your help in freeing my family. However -” he stepped closer to her, readjusting the cuffs on his robes “– dating my son was never part of the bargain.”

“Funny,” Hermione spat, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t remember reading that in the non-existent contract.”

His hands dropped back to his sides and Lucius drew himself up to his full height. A voice in the back of Hermione’s mind told her that she ought to be cowering under such a cold gaze, but the thin man in front of her did little to present an ominous figure.

He might have changed into his good robes, and he’d clearly showered, shaved, and combed his hair. But that didn’t make a skerrick of difference given that a strong wind could make short work of him - and he was wandless.

“He is to be betrothed,” he bit out, “and you will not stand in the way of it.”

“Does he know this?” Hermione countered. “Because I think, after everything Draco has been through, he’s earned the right to choose what his future holds.”

“I appreciate your concern, Miss Granger.” Lucius’ gaze was as cold as ice, and despite her warm ire, Hermione couldn’t prevent the shiver as it ran up her spine. “Draco might think he knows what he wants, for now, but rest assured, what’s best for him is to not lower himself to the standard of getting _involved_ -” his mouth twisted around the word as if he were likely to gag on it “- with a Muggleborn.”

Hermione squinted her eyes, canting her head as if trying to solve a rather difficult puzzle. “You speak as though you were merely asleep for the duration of the Second Wizarding War,” she whispered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mister Malfoy,” she answered in the same soft, deadly tone, “I fought very hard, risking the my own life, and the lives of those I hold most dear, to prove that I am not some second-rate witch, and I am _definitely -_ ” she punctuated the word by pointing her finger at him “– not someone your son has to _lower_ himself to.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.” He shrugged. “Now, please leave. I’m tired of this conversation and I wish to return to my wife.”

“I’m waiting for Draco,” Hermione said through gritted teeth.

He fixed her with a simpering look. “Draco won’t be coming down tonight. He’s refusing to leave Narcissa’s bedside. Perhaps try owling tomorrow.”

Lucius leered then, mirth dancing in his eyes as Hermione’s face drained of all colour. Part of her wanted to stay, to show the arrogant, bigoted bully that Draco wouldn’t stand for the bullshit he had just spun…but then, she realised that Draco probably did need more time with his mother, and though she longed to see him, hug him, and find out just how grave the Narcissa’s condition was, she finally decided that perhaps a new dawn was what was needed here.

“Fine,” she growled, collecting her things. “But I’m not leaving because you asked me to; I’m leaving out of respect for Draco.”

Lucius did not respond, but continued to smirk as she stepped into the fireplace with a handful of Floo powder, and then whirled away.

“Lucius?” Draco called, not two seconds later.

“How is she?” he asked, his eyes still fixed on the grate.

“Fine.” Draco yawned as he entered the sitting room. “Where’s Granger?”

“She had to leave.” He turned slowly, frowning as he took in the look on Draco’s face. “Come now,” he chided, “involving yourself with someone like Miss Granger is incredibly stupid, son, even for you.”

Draco’s fists clenched at his side. “I do hope,” he started, an edge to his tone, “that you didn’t drive her away, because I would like you to know that I have every intention of dating Granger, and embracing wherever that may lead in the future.”

Lucius scoffed. “You’re a fool.”

“I don’t care what you think.” Draco shook his head, meaning the words for the first time in his life. “I’m going to – “

_Crack!_

Miksy suddenly appeared between them, her eyes wide and fretful. “Master!” she squeaked. “Masters!”

“What is it, Miksy?” Draco asked, with some impatience.

“It is Mistress, Master Draco!” The elf began to wring her hands together at lightning speed. “She is not breathing right!”

Draco took off behind the elf, racing towards the wing he had left his mother in. Lucius only watched as his son disappeared, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. If things continued to go this way for Narcissa, Lucius would not have to try very hard to keep Draco out of Miss Granger’s clutches at all…

 

* * *

 

Over the next four days, Hermione sent Draco more than ten owls, of which he returned none. In the beginning, she was able to tell herself that he was just busy with his mother; he hadn’t seen her in five years, after all. Hermione knew that if it were possible to reverse the memories of her parents, she’d want plenty of alone time with them.

But then the doubts began to trickle in. Surely, he would have had five minutes to spare, to reply to even one of her letters? Had Lucius been right? Perhaps having his parents back again had shed some new light on Draco’s perception of her – of them?

She shook her head and stripped out of her Ministry robes, thankful that it was Friday night. With a wave of her wand, the bottle of wine on the counter began to pour itself into a large glass, and she gratefully swallowed a large mouthful.

As she relished the tang on her tongue, Hermione unzipped her skirt and let it fall to her ankles. She stepped out of it, took another mouthful of wine, and tapped her fingernails against the glass as she held it against her lips.

_I could go over there,_ she thought. _If he kicks me out, at least I’ll know where I stand…_

Acknowledging this thought, Hermione hurried to her bedroom. She pulled on a comfortable pair of jeans, shucked her blouse and replaced it with a plain sweater, and then slid her feet into a pair of ballet flats. She was back in front of her fireplace within five minutes, taking the Floo powder from the mantel before throwing it into the flames and stepping into the emerald glow.

“Malfoy Manor!” she called.

Her living room spun away, and she squeezed her eyes shut as foreign grates flashed before them. Within seconds, it was over, and she landed in the Malfoy sitting room.

Her first realisation was that Draco was there, standing in the middle of the room. The second, was that he was kissing Pansy Parkinson.

The blood drained from her face, pooling in her stomach until it felt as though she had been kicked in the torso. Her breath left her in a choked and forceful exhale and she staggered back until she clutched the mantel, the noise causing the kissing couple to break apart.

“Granger!” Draco spun on his heel and stumbled towards her, bracing himself on an armchair as he moved.

Speechless for the first time in her life, Hermione simply shook her head, grabbed the pot of Floo powder from behind her, and threw a handful into the grate.

“Twelve Grimmauld Place!” she shouted, and seconds later she was gone.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell, Parkinson?” Draco growled, rounding on the dark-haired witch as soon as the fireplace was silent again.

“What?” She raised an eyebrow innocently.

“You know exactly what,” Draco spat. “Why did you kiss me?”

“Come off of it, Draco,” she scoffed. “This hard-to-get game is becoming rather tiresome.”

“You’re certifiably insane.” He shook his head and made to walk past her, towards his room.

Pansy grabbed on to his sleeve as he came level with her. “Your Father means to marry you off,” she hissed, her eyes now cold. “I thought you’d rather it be to someone you know you can stand; or would you prefer Astoria?” She cocked her head to the side, regarding him from beneath her eyelashes.

“Let go, Pansy,” he said through gritted teeth. “I thought we could be friends, but obviously you are so deluded that you think -”

“ _I’m_ deluded?” she squeaked. “I’m not the one pretending that it’s a good idea to openly date a _Muggleborn -”_ she spat the word as if it were the most disgusting curse imaginable “– if you want to talk about delusion, Draco, how about you start -?”

“Just let go!” he roared, snatching his sleeve from her grip. “Show yourself out,” he said, finally making it to the hallway, not bothering to look back as he left her standing in the middle of the room.

Fuming, he made it up the first flight of stairs before his way was blocked by Lucius.

“What do you want?” he snarled, coming to stand in front of his father.

“Manners, Draco,” Lucius drawled. “I heard a commotion. Is everything okay with Miss Parkinson?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, and his hands balled into fists at his side. “Did you set that up?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Pansy -” Draco pointed behind him in the general direction of the sitting room “- did you set that up – the kiss – Granger -?” His breathing was ragged now, but Lucius only looked disinterested.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said softly, peering down his nose at Draco. “I was actually coming to find you, to discuss your betrothal to Astoria Greengrass.”

“ _What?_ ” Draco shouted, throwing his arms wide.

“Come now.” Lucius simpered. “We need to rebuild the Malfoy name, and the Greengrasses are -”

“Not the witches I intend to marry!” Draco interjected hotly. “If you’ll excuse me, Lucius, I’m actually on my way to -”

“Miss Granger?” Lucius’ mouth twisted. “I’m afraid she’s going to have to wallow in her obvious inferiority for just a bit longer. The contract has been signed by both parties,” he continued when Draco simply locked his jaw and folded his arms across his chest. “Once your mother wakes, the preparation for the ceremony will begin.”

“And if I refuse?” Draco tilted his chin upwards in defiance.

“You won’t,” Lucius spat. “This is what’s best for the family, Draco, and let me tell you, your life will be much easier once you understand that.” With one last cold glare, the older Malfoy sauntered down the stairs in a languid fashion which contradicted the way he had just spoken to his son.

Draco watched him go, shaking his head slowly, until his father’s retreating back had disappeared towards the library. Turning on his heel, Draco hurried towards his room and summoned his owl. He suspected that Hermione wouldn’t be home yet, and if she was, she most definitely would have changed her wards to ensure he would not be able to get in. A letter, as cowardly and unfulfilling as it was, would have to suffice…for now.

 

* * *

 

“I just don’t understand.” Hermione hiccupped, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea in her hands.

“I’m not surprised.” Ginny arched an eyebrow as she took in Hermione’s tear stained face.

“What?”

“You didn’t bother to wait for an explanation.” The red-haired witch shrugged. “It’s no wonder you don’t understand.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not trying to be a bitch.” She sighed. “But don’t you think you may have overreacted?”

“He was _kissing_ her, Ginny…I don’t know what an appropriate reaction is to that. He hasn’t spoken to me in two weeks, except for letters – and they’ve stopped – and, I could have -”

“Stop.” Ginny held up a hand to punctuate the syllable. “Hermione, I’m not saying that he’s innocent. Maybe he does want Pansy Parkinson -” Hermione blanched “- but what if there’s more to the story? What if there’s an explanation that proves his innocence? I mean, it’s _Pansy Parkinson_ ; from what you’ve told me about her, it’s plausible that she accosted him, and you simply walked in at the wrong time.”

“Or right time,” Hermione muttered, though her attitude was beginning to change.

“Whatever.” Ginny waved a hand. “But the Hermione I know would get all the facts before stumbling out of my Floo in hysterics.”

“I don’t think she exists anymore, Gin.” Hermione wiped her face with the back of her hands and stood from the table. “But thank you, for the advice and the tea.”

Ginny shrugged, standing as well. “My mum always says that anything can be fixed with a cup of tea.”

“I remember.” Hermione smiled, and for the first time in weeks she felt relaxed, knowing that the rift between her, Ginny, and Harry was on the mend.

 

* * *

 

When Hermione returned home, she was met by the haughty stare of Draco’s owl. She sighed; she should have expected this. She hadn’t changed the wards, though that had been her intention when she left Malfoy Manor.

While she knew she had to go and face him, she found that the thought of doing so twisted something uncomfortably in her gut. The owl hooted, flying over to where she stood fidgeting by the lounge.

“Fine,” she sighed, taking the letter from its proffered leg. “Let’s see what he has to say then.”

She sat on the three-seater, letting her legs rest along the length of it.

 

_Dear Hermione,_

_I’m sorry for what you witnessed this morning. Please know that it wasn’t what it looked like. I would never kiss Pansy voluntarily; she’s simply delusional about the status of our relationship, and Lucius isn’t helping matters._

_I’d really like to continue this conversation in person; we have a lot to discuss, and I have a few things to apologise for…number one being that I haven’t contacted you since Mother came home._

_Please come to the Manor as soon as you get this (I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night) so that I may have the chance to grovel properly. I’ve opened the wards so that you may Apparate directly into my bedroom._

_Yours,_

_DM_

Hermione read the letter over three times, her heart leaping at the use of her first name. He had obviously been in a rush, given the terrible penmanship, but she didn’t care; Ginny was right – he hadn’t been kissing Parkinson willingly.

She glanced up, looking for the owl with the intent of writing a response, but the bird had left sometime during her readings of the letter; apparently he was not expecting her word. She sighed heavily, stood and walked to her kitchen, placing the letter on the counter. She drummed her fingers atop the laminate and then began pacing around the island, staring at the piece of parchment as if unsure of what to do with herself.

Of course she wanted to go over there; she wanted to hear exactly how Parkinson’s lips became fused with Draco’s…

_But,_ she thought, frowning, _though an apology is warranted, I really don’t want to have to explain my outrageous jealousy just yet…our relationship is so fragile, and he’ll never let me live it down._

Eventually, though, Hermione had to admit she had left Draco to sweat it out for long enough. If he had not done anything wrong – and Hermione desperately wanted to believe that this was the case – it was only fair for her to go to the Manor and listen to his explanation.

_And apologise for my reaction,_ she reminded herself with a grimace.

 

* * *

 

When she finally Apparated into Draco’s bedroom, it was closing in on midnight. She had been a little taken aback when he’d suggested meeting in his room, given the connotation for potential debauchery, but supposed he was unwilling to be interrupted. It made sense in her logical brain…but when she arrived in the middle of a large, green room (besides resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the obvious colour scheme), Hermione could not understand why it was completely dark.

“Draco?” she called in a whisper, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden blindness. “Hello?”

She frowned; his letter had very explicitly said he would be awaiting her in his room, so why -?

Hurried footsteps drew Hermione’s attention to where she assumed the door stood. A crack of yellow light appeared, framing a tall shadow before the door clicked shut and everything went black again.

Hermione fumbled in her pocket for her wand. “ _Lumos!_ ” she hissed, her hand shaking slightly as she held it straight out in front of her.

The tip was an inch from his chest, the light casting an eery glow over his agitated features. His face was as white as a sheet and his hair mussed to the point of total disarray; Hermione only had a moment to think that it was completely unlike the Draco she knew to greet her in such a state, but before she could ask if he was okay, he started rambling, his eyes wide and devoid of everything but sheer terror.

“My mother,” he garbled. “Granger, my mother – she’s not well – not warm – please, help!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience! My goal is to have "Necessary Evil" by the end of the year, but I've still got a few fests and comps to write for...as well as NaNoWriMo because apparently I'm a sucker for punishment lol. Please send good vibes (and lots and lots of coffee!!) Much love! xx


	24. Coming Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa's health takes a turn for the worst and Hermione fears the Malfoy matriarch may not survive the night...and also smut.

******From Chapter 23:** _ Hurried footsteps drew Hermione’s attention to where she assumed the door stood. A crack of yellow light appeared, framing a tall shadow before the door clicked shut and everything went black again. _

 

_ Hermione fumbled in her pocket for her wand. “Lumos!” she hissed, her hand shaking slightly as she held it straight out in front of her. _

 

_ The tip was an inch from his chest, the light casting an eerie glow over his agitated features. His face was as white as a sheet and his hair mussed to the point of total disarray; Hermione only had a moment to think that it was completely unlike the Draco she knew to greet her in such a state, but before she could ask if he was okay, he started rambling, his eyes wide and devoid of everything but sheer terror. _

 

_ “My mother,” he garbled. “Granger, my mother – she’s not well – not warm – please, help!” _

* * *

 

 

She cut him off by running towards him, sensing in him an urgency she had only ever witnessed during the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Unwilling to accept that this situation was as dire, she simply continued to move past him in the hopes that he would follow and take her to his mother.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered as they arrived at the door of Narcissa’s chambers. “I don’t know what to do.” A single tear rolled down his cheek and Hermione caught the reflex to wipe it away with the tightening of her fist. Without a word, she knocked softly on the closed door before pushing against it and entering Narcissa’s bedroom.

 

It was a large room, but sparsely furnished. A dresser stood against the wall to her right, facing a king-sized four poster bed with cream curtains, which were tied back to reveal the tiny form of Draco’s mother resting in the middle of it. A chair had been dragged across the soft carpet, right up to the side of the mattress, and Hermione noted the indent on the cushion which suggested Draco had not moved from his post for days.

 

“She’s barely breathing,” he said, coming to stand behind the chair.

 

Hermione moved to the other side of the mattress, placing one knee upon it so that she could lean over the patient. Draco was right; her breathing was shallow and soft, as if she was hardly taking in any air at all. With a quick look of apology, Hermione climbed fully onto the bed and began to check Narcissa’s vitals as best she could.

 

“When was the last time a Healer was here?” she finally asked, her gaze locking on to Draco’s with an intensity she could not hide.

 

“The day after she arrived,” he whispered, glancing from Hermione to his mother as if chiding the brunette witch for speaking loud enough to wake her.

 

Hermione exhaled forcefully through her nose. “She needs a Healer. Now.”

 

“Is it bad?” Draco’s voice was thin and strained, and Hermione had to force herself not to allow the prickling sensation behind her eyes to take hold as she registered its fragility.

 

“Yes.” She nodded, unwilling to lie to him. “Your mother is barely breathing on her own; she’s as cold as ice, and if a Healer does not see her within the next five minutes, I fear she will not make it much past then.”

 

Draco stilled, his facial features frozen in utter shock. He remained that way for a few seconds which dragged on impossibly, until he suddenly leapt back from the bed and pointed an accusing finger at his own chest.

 

“This is because of me, isn’t it?” he hissed. “The Ministry is punishing me – and my  _ father  _ —” he spat the word “— for our involvement in the War.”

 

Hermione raised both hands in a sign of surrender. “I don’t —”

 

“Save her!” he demanded, storming around the bed and coming to a stop less than an inch away from Hermione’s face. “Granger, you have to save her, or I – I don’t know what I’ll do if —”

 

Without warning Hermione turned on the spot and Apparated away, not bothering to wait to hear Draco’s threat; what mattered now was ensuring Narcissa got the medical help she needed.

 

“I need a Healer!” she yelled as soon as she arrived in front of the reception desk at St Mungo’s. “Now!”

 

“What’s your ailment?” the receptionist asked without looking up from her copy of  _ Witch Weekly. _

 

“My ailment?” Hermione scoffed. “My ailment is that the Ministry is a bunch of useless sea slugs, intent on stroking each other’s egos and filling each other’s wallets while an innocent woman rots in jail and then  _ dies in her home less than a week after her release! _ ”

 

As her shouts rang around the small area, the receptionist looked up, though her expression registered as more annoyed than spurred into action.

 

Hermione huffed as they made eye contact, unwilling to say the next part, though she knew it must be done. “My name is Hermione Granger and I demand that your two most experienced Healers follow me to Malfoy Manor  _ right now, _ or I promise that this entire hospital will be dragged through a long and messy legal battle with me leading the prosecution.”

 

The receptionist only blinked in response and Hermione wondered if she should also be championing the girl’s wellbeing.

 

Just as she was about to unleash her full wrath, a familiar face appeared from the hallway behind the reception desk. “Hermione Granger!” Katie Bell greeted her. “What can I do for you?”

 

“I need your two best Healers,” Hermione snapped, unwilling to engage in pleasantries. “Immediately.”

 

Katie frowned, but nodded and disappeared, returning a minute later with two grey-haired women in lime green robes.

 

“What can we do for —?”

 

“Grab whatever you’re going to need to save the life of a woman who is currently barely breathing, cold as ice, and suffering from an extended stay in Azkaban, having been subjected to little to no healthcare since her return home.” The Healers stared at her for a moment before Hermione barked, “Move!” and the women hurried into action.

 

She was unsure whether it was because she had dropped her name, or simply the crazed look in her eye, but Hermione did not question why they had jumped to follow her instructions.

 

Less than three minutes since leaving the Manor, Hermione returned flanked by the Healers. Without having to say anything, the witches rushed forward and swatted Draco out of the way so that they could assess Narcissa’s fragile form.

 

The blond circled around the four-poster slowly, watching them work but unable to see what they were doing as they sat practically on top of his mother. Hermione longed to call him over to her, where she had remained standing against the wall next to the dresser, but felt that Narcissa’s life hung in the balance of her silence and so she remained mute.

 

Finally, after at least half an hour, one of the Healers extracted herself from the bed and turned to face Draco. “She’ll be alright,” she said in a kind voice. “We’re going to stay with her overnight —” her gaze flickered to Hermione who nodded stiffly in response “— and you can be sure that your mother will receive around the clock care until she’s up and functioning as normal.”

 

_ Normal _ , Hermione thought cynically.  _ What does that look like for a woman who’s been cooped up in a fucking prison for over half a decade? _

 

“Thank you,” she heard Draco whisper. “I really appreciate you coming at such short notice.”

He turned to look at Hermione. Whatever he saw reflecting in her expression seemed to jar something within him and he was suddenly striding towards her. He took her by the elbow without saying anything and steered her towards the door. When she protested, he insisted that his mother was in good hands, and that he really needed to talk to her.

 

“First of all,” he said when they reached the hallway, “thank you; my mother wouldn’t still be here if it wasn’t for you turning up when you did.” Hermione opened her mouth to argue that she almost  _ wasn’t  _ here, and if she had arrived sooner, then perhaps Narcissa would have been in a better state now, but Draco pressed a long finger to her lips to silence her. 

 

“Second,” he continued, “I’m sorry for what you witnessed earlier today…or yesterday; I promise that I was not willingly kissing Pansy Parkinson.” He screwed up his face and dropped his voice so low that Hermione had to practically press her ear to his lips in order to hear him. “She ambushed me, and I think Lucius is behind it.”

 

As if he had summoned him by speaking his name, Lucius suddenly appeared behind Draco. Hermione indicated that Draco should turn around with a stiff nod of her head and she watched as the two Malfoy men regarded each other with cold, empty eyes.

 

“Draco,” Lucius said. “How is she?”

 

“She almost died,” Draco said, his tone conversational.

 

“What?” Lucius’ expression did not change, but the over-enunciation of the ‘t’ as it clicked against the roof of his mouth gave him away. Whether he cared about Narcissa or was hopeful for her demise, Hermione could not tell.

 

“If it weren’t for Hermione, she would be dead. She brought the Healers; they’re with Mother now.”

 

Lucius glanced from Hermione to the open door of his wife’s bedroom. For a moment, Hermione was sure he was going to sweep past them to visit Narcissa, but his eyes came to rest easily back on Hermione’s face. His mouth twisted in what she assumed was meant to be a smile, but it only made him look menacing and slightly demented.

 

“Thank you,” he hissed, the words dripping with disdain. “Miss Granger, we owe you a huge debt.”

 

“Nonsense.” Hermione waved her hand nonchalantly, though she continued to glare at Lucius. “I’d do anything for Draco and Narcissa.”

 

The implication hung like old wet washing in between a market alleyway, and Lucius wrinkled his nose as if he could smell it. He did not respond, however, instead turning on his heel and marching quickly away from them and his ailing wife.

 

Hermione met Draco’s gaze and arched an eyebrow in a questioning gesture, but the blond only shook his head, his expression weary. His hands moved lazily to her upper arms, gently easing around her flesh and tugging her towards him.

 

Buried in his chest, Hermione inhaled his scent and allowed herself just a moment of relaxation; questions regarding his father and Pansy  _ effing  _ Parkinson could wait. For now, she would enjoy the feeling of Draco’s arms as they held her firmly to him, her ear resting against his steady heartbeat.

* * *

 

Draco had barely had time to scratch himself since his parents had returned home. He felt as though the weight of the world had fallen on his shoulders since, his nerves worn thin as he juggled Lucius’ intent to force him into a life he didn’t want, Narcissa’s illness, and his very new relationship with Hermione.

 

In the cold hours of the morning, as he sat by his mother’s bedside, he reflected on how far they had come in such a short amount of time; he was able to recall sheer frustration with the witch when his memory wandered to their first few meetings, but the anger he had harboured had dissipated to the point of obscurity.

 

When she had walked in on him and Pansy, he had thought for sure that things would be over before they could properly start between them. His parents were home, he was no longer under house arrest, and Hermione was the Head Case Manager in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; her work was done as far as the Malfoy’s were concerned, and he had honestly not expected her to respond to his written attempt at grovelling.

 

His hand clenched in the bedsheets to his left; his mother was still sleeping, the soft rise and fall of her chest now deep and full, a vast difference from the shallow gasps she had been managing before Hermione had dragged in the Healers three days ago.

 

_ Thank Merlin for Granger, _ he thought.  _ If she hadn’t responded… _

 

His eyes glanced over the small lumpy figure beneath the sheets. Draco didn’t think he would ever get used to seeing Narcissa like this; nothing could prepare you for seeing your mother in such a position. She had been through Hell and back over the last five years, and it showed. Her face was more lined than he remembered, her eyes and hair - what was left of it - much duller. Her lips were thinner and held less colour than her pale cheeks.

 

"Draco?" Her voice was barely there, a thin wisp that burst into the air and then faded just as quickly as it appeared.

 

"Mother?" His heart leapt into his throat and began to beat at an incredible rate. Standing, he placed his right knee on the mattress and leaned over to get a better look at her face; he didn’t think he was dreaming, but he had to be sure, had to see her lips move before he dared let himself believe this was happening.  

 

"Draco?" she repeated. Her hand reached for him, towards his face. He clutched it in both of his and brought it to rest against his cheek. Her skin was cool, but definitely warmer than when she had first arrived home.

 

Tears sprung to the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them back furiously, relief flooding his veins and making him feel dizzy.

 

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

 

Silence.

 

“Mother?” He frowned, lowering his face and angling it to the left slightly so as to allow the moonlight to give him a better view of Narcissa.  

 

Her eyes were closed; she had fallen back to sleep.

 

He sighed as he guided her hand gently back to the mattress before repositioning himself in the chair. He produced his wand, casting a silent  _ Accio _ so he could write a letter to both St Mungo’s and Hermione. It was three in the morning, but he would be damned if he wasn’t going to inform them of the marvellous turn of events.

 

Sure, his mother might have only woken for less than thirty seconds, but that had to be a good sign. Right?

 

* * *

 

Hermione had responded immediately, not minding in the slightest that he had woken her at three in the morning with the news that Narcissa had woken up and spoken to him - even if the moment had been fleeting. He had also tacked on an invitation to come over and join him for dinner that evening, something Hermione was only too eager to accept after everything that had gone down between them. Going to one’s boyfriend’s house for dinner was a completely normal thing to do, even if that house was a manor which was also home for said boyfriend’s evil father and comatose mother. 

 

“How is she?” Hermione asked as she watched Draco place their dirty dishes in the sink and wandlessly set them to washing themselves. Dinner had been an enjoyable affair, but Hermione had avoided all talk of his parents just in case it ruined his appetite - or his mood, which seemed uncharacteristically chipper. 

 

“She’s stable, but still not awake,” he answered. “The Healers are with her now.”

 

“Good.” Hermione maintained eye contact with him as he slowly made his way around the kitchen island and came to stand in front of her. He fingered a stray curl, tugging it gently and then letting it go so that it sprang back up towards her chin. “Have they said anything about when they think she will wake?”

 

Draco shook his head, his mouth settling into a thin line. His hand dropped from where it had fluttered around her cheek, resting instead on her hip, his fingers kneading gently. He offered no more in the way of conversation but leaned forward and captured her lips in a searing kiss.

It was chaste, at first, and then Draco began to walk her backwards until Hermione’s spine connected with the wall beside the refrigerator. Forcing a knee between her thighs, Draco ran his tongue over the seam of her lips, and she granted him entrance immediately.

 

Warmth pooled from her chest into her abdomen as his grip tightened around her waist, simultaneously pulling him to her while his hips pressed her hard into the wall. Her breath was coming in harsh bursts through her nose, and her head spun from the lack of oxygen – not that she minded; she hadn’t been touched like this in so long, and even with the small voice in the back of her head telling her that she and Draco had yet to discuss their relationship, Hermione was unwilling to distract him from his current ministrations.

 

Hermione whimpered into his mouth as his fingertips dipped beneath her sweater and traced patterns over the warm skin of her stomach, tingles running outwards from his touch. She fisted her hands in his shirt and bucked her hips up involuntarily. He smirked against her lips, but she swallowed the rising feeling of chagrin as he responded with a roll of his own hips.

 

“I know,” he said as she moaned again, his lips moving softly against hers, “that we haven’t really had  _ the talk _ , but —” he nipped her lip between his teeth and tugged “— I want to feel you.” He kissed her again before continuing. “I mean, I’ll stop —” he kissed the side of her mouth “— if you want me to, but with all the stress lately I need —”

 

“Draco,” she whispered, bracing her hands on his chest and pushing slightly so that she could look up into his face. “Stop talking, and just keep on doing what you were doing.” 

 

He offered her a sheepish grin, but obediently ducked his head and claimed her mouth in a kiss once more. It was more insistent this time, and less composed. Hermione could practically feel his impatience as his grip tightened further at her hips and his lips slid across hers without the finesse of before; he had finally let go, she realised. This knowledge only made her want him more, a fact that struck her as her last coherent thought. From then on it was all  _ Draco.  _

 

His mouth left hers with a smacking sound, but he did not pause to glance at her. Instead, he moved to suck and nip at her jaw, making his way down her neck until he sucked at her pulse point, sending her back arching involuntarily away from the wall. Pleasure zinged from the point of contact, down over her chest, and straight to her core; it wasn’t long before she was panting and whimpering, her hands clenched into fists in his grey cotton shirt, her eyes squeezed shut so tightly she was beginning to see stars. 

 

His hands found the front of her jeans, and he used a wandless spell to pop open the button and loosen the zipper; there was no time for a build up, apparently, and Hermione briefly wondered if their first intimate moment was going to be a hard fuck against a wall, when he tore his teeth from her flesh and looked into her eyes, his gaze hot and full of filthy promises. 

 

“Bedroom,” he said in a gravelly tone. It sent shivers up Hermione’s spine and she bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning. 

 

She nodded her head and Draco growled, bending slightly with his arms around her middle so that he could lift her, her legs wrapping around his waist. Hermione could not remember ever being in such a position and froze at first, unsure of what to do with her hands, which were still fisted awkwardly in the front of his shirt… but then he began to move, slowly walking them towards the entrance of the kitchen and then up the stairs, and he alternated between checking that the path was clear, and peppering hot kisses to the skin that was exposed above her blouse. 

 

By the time they had reached the first landing, Hermione’s hands were threaded through his hair, holding him to her chest as he licked and sucked and nibbled. He chuckled against her flushed skin as she groaned in impatience as he once again lifted his head so that he could see where he was going; Hermione was both simultaneously embarrassed and aroused by the sound - she didn’t want him to think she was so easily turned on…

 

Her back met the wooden doorway first as Draco pressed her against it, balancing her weight on the white frame as he fiddled with the handle. He caught Hermione just in time as the door swung inwards, and they both laughed as he crossed the threshold, stopping only when their lips met once more and their giggles quickly subsided into harsh exhales and breathy moans. 

 

Draco kicked the door shut behind him and locked it with a wordless wave of his hand; he also cast a  _ Silencio _ for good measure. Hermione did not notice him warding the room; she was too busy trying to get closer to him, if such a thing were possible. She kissed him back hungrily as his tongue entered her mouth once more; his cologne was all she could smell - sandalwood with a citrusy undertone. 

 

He deposited her on the mattress of his grand four-poster and in the second it took Hermione to pout at the realisation that his lips had left hers, Draco had captured her protruding lower lip between his teeth and was slowly pushing her backwards until she was laying on the bed. He hovered over her as he continued to kiss her, his fingers tracing barely-there patterns on her skin until she was positively mewling into his mouth. 

 

“Draco,” she panted, breaking the kiss. 

 

He pulled back, arm muscles taut as he gazed down at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue...but she didn’t. She licked her lips and then ran her hands over his abdomen, towards the waistband of his pants, her movements somewhat tentative. He frowned and opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, but before he could articulate the question, Hermione had gripped the hem of his shirt in her hands and was tugging it back up towards his head. 

 

He grinned at the look of concentration on her face, but obediently leaned back slightly so that she could pull the garment off of him. With surprising strength, she then balled it up and threw it over his shoulder so it hit the far wall and slid down to the floor with a soft  _ flump _ !

 

Hermione took a moment to enjoy the pride that flared in her chest, but she was soon distracted by the chiseled chest of the man who was still hovering above her, enjoying the change in her expression. Her fingertips pressed into the soft-but-hard flesh and Hermione’s mind reeled; she wasn’t blind – she had always thought Draco was attractive, even with the sneer on his face all the way up until sixth year, when his sickly pallor had only dimmed his handsome features a little. 

 

When he had been released from Azkaban, Hermione remembered thinking that he resembled a boy who was playing dress ups in his father’s closet. That was not the case now, though she could not pinpoint the moment he had started to fill out or tone up. However it happened, she was grateful for the transformation as Draco growled low in his throat, obviously annoyed with her lack of action and forced his arm underneath her so that he could shuffle them both up towards the head board. 

 

Hermione tilted her chin up, a smirk playing on her lips as she settled against silk-covered pillows in varying shades of grey. Expecting Draco to kiss her again, she licked her lips and her eyes fluttered closed, but instead of warm lips slanting over her own, Hermione was caught off guard by strong hands fluttering over her chest as Draco undid the buttons of her blouse. Her eyes flew open, meeting his heated gaze which stopped the voice in her throat as she prepared to ask him what he was doing. 

 

It took very little time for Draco to divest her of her blouse, and then his mouth was on her chest, moving down over the mounds of her breasts. Hermione could barely think as she arched into him, silently begging him for more. Her skin was on fire and her fingernails made an audible scraping noise as she fisted her hands into the silk sheets. When his mouth closed over a nipple, the heat from his tongue seeping through the fabric of her bra, Hermione squeaked and bucked her hips upwards, earning herself a hearty chuckle from the blond above her. 

 

Hermione threaded her fingers into the thin strands of his hair, and his mirth quickly dissipated. His movements became more frenzied as he groped at her hips and then tugged at her bra so that he could bite down on the taut flesh without a barrier. 

 

“More,” Hermione rasped. 

 

Draco was only too happy to oblige, and set to work tugging her jeans down her legs. As she lay in just her underthings, Hermione sent her hands gliding over the smooth planes of his chest and abdomen, repaying the favour and forcing his jeans down his hips. His boxers were a deep green and she couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow up at him. Draco simply shrugged and then bent over her again, moaning as their chests came into contact with each other at the same time his lips met hers.

 

He did not break the kiss as he hooked his fingers into the band of her knickers and dragged them slowly down her legs. Hermione arched into him as he went, begging for more, but he only smirked against her mouth. When he finally settled on top of her again, his hard length was pressing against the top of her mound, shamelessly free of its green confines. 

 

Hermione’s eyes flew open at the sudden sensation, and Draco pulled back immediately. 

 

“What is it?” he asked with a frown. “Are you okay?” 

 

Hermione nodded, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. “Keep going,” she whispered. 

 

He ducked his head again, albeit tentatively, his lips caressing hers in a barely-there movement. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, showing him that she wanted  _ more.  _ She wrapped both legs around his hips now and moaned as his cock pressed against her entrance. 

 

He broke the kiss to trail his lips down her neck and over her sternum. Hermione panted as she realised his intention, but that wasn’t what she wanted. 

 

“Draco,” she said. When his gaze met hers, she offered him a small smile. “I want to feel you.” 

 

He continued to take in her expression, searching her eyes for any doubt or concern, but he found only heady expectations. With a returning smirk, he moved to hover over her again, and bent down to press a chaste kiss to her lips as he lined himself up with her core. 

 

He pushed in gently, at first; as the head of his cock entered her, Hermione gasped in a mixture of pleasure and shock - he wasn’t exactly  _ small _ and it had been a while… but then with one quick push forward he was sheathed inside of her and Hermione dug her nails into his forearms, groaning as shocks of pleasure and pain coursed through her belly. 

 

“You okay?” he asked between clenched teeth. 

 

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes hooded as she took in the muscle working in his jaw; it was clearly taking all of his self control not to just fuck her into the mattress. She nodded, waiting for him to move. He did so slowly, building up a rhythm until their hips were snapping together at a frenzied pace and Hermione felt as though she was approaching a monumental precipice.

 

Her walls fluttered around him, teasing and tensing in a way that promised release but only if she was given a really good push. Sensing this, Draco’s hand snaked between their bodies and the pad of his thumb found her clit. Hermione almost came undone as soon as he began to rub the sensitive bud in quick movements, but it wasn’t until he lowered his mouth to hers and claimed it in a passionate kiss that she tumbled over the edge, hot bursts of yellow light flashing as she squeezed her eyes shut and clutched the blond to her, rocking her hips without paying heed to the steady rhythm they had set. 

 

As she came down, her moan subsiding into soft mewls, Draco left her lips and trailed kisses down her jaw so that he could whisper in her ear. “That was so fucking sexy.” 

 

With that he followed her into post-orgasmic bliss. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta littlered1992, who helped me structure the mess that was the start of this chapter lol. And a huuuuge thank you and round of applause for InDreams who beta'd the final product for me at the last minute so I could get this to you guys before this weekend. Much love! xx


	25. An Unlikely Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco navigate the morning after...A contract arrives for Draco and there is an unexpected solution hidden in the fine print.

Hermione awoke the next morning with the paradoxical feelings of both deep satisfaction and dull pain. The pain was concentrated between her legs, and she had not even opened her eyes - or gained full consciousness - before memories of the previous night flooded her mind. She smiled into a silk pillowcase, one that was not her own, and hummed softly in contentment. As she rolled over her eyelids fluttered, her vision cloudy as she forced them open against the sunlight streaming in from the window.

Blurred colours of green and grey swam before her and she blinked repeatedly until she could make out the flat expanse of the other side of the bed. She frowned. Where was Draco? She inched her left palm towards the abandoned half of the mattress; lukewarm. Her forehead wrinkled as her eyebrows knitted closer together. He had left recently, then...but why?

Her mind began to race as if trying to make up for time lost in the bliss of post-coital sleep. Had something happened to Narcissa? Did he regret last night?Or maybe, a hopeful voice sounded in the back of her mind, he’s just making breakfast?

Hermione tossed back the sheets and scrambled to find her clothes. She located them scattered about the room and she jumped as she tugged her jeans to her waist, bouncing towards the door and throwing it open before she had a chance to button her pants. On the way to the kitchen she fixed her appearance as best she could.When she entered the vast room she was instantly relieved to note the blond standing over the stove. The fact that he was shirtless only served to improve her mood.

“Hey,” she greeted him, walking slowly towards him and stopping a few feet away.

“Hi.” He smirked as he turned, his gaze raking her up and down. “I didn’t want to wake you.” He gestured towards the stove, indicating the pancakes cooking in a frypan.

Hermione smiled. “I was worried when I woke up alone.” Her cheeks heated at the admission, and as Draco’s smirk slid from his face to be replaced by a look of concern, Hermione wished she had not opened her mouth. Despite being over Ron, years of putting up with an unfaithful partner had ingrained some unfortunate thinking habits into her brain. When she had woken up without Draco by her side, she was ashamed to admit that her first thought had been that he regretted last night, and had disappeared to prepare himself to let her down. It seemed silly now, she reasoned, as his heated gaze settled on her face, and she felt the tightness in her chest fade slightly. 

“Why?” he asked, taking a step forward.

Hermione offered him a half-hearted shrug and a quirk of her lips. Draco seemed to have picked up the thread of her thoughts, however, and he closed the gap between them, his arms winding around her waist. She leaned in to him happily, allowing him to press her against the wooden bench as he ducked his head and kissed her soundly. Hermione held him to her, kissing him back with equal fervor.

His growl rumbled through his chest and Hermione barely registered the wandless spell he cast on the stove to ensure the pancakes would not burn, because in the next movement he lifted her onto the bench and settled himself between her legs.

She was lost in all that was Draco; the feel of his lips, his tongue, his hands as they roamed freely over her body, possessing her and revering her, kneading and soothing. His fingertips grazed the underside of her breast, tracing patterns beneath her shirt, and she shivered as he grasped the hem, moving back slightly so he could remove it.

“Blaise!” Draco dropped the fabric as if it had burned him and took a step backwards, leaving Hermione feeling suddenly cold and entirely bewildered. “What the fuck? How long have you been standing there?” He pointed an accusatory finger over Hermione’s shoulder.

Wincing, Hermione turned, though the view of the smug Italian wizard lounging against the entry to the kitchen did not come as a shock. He smirked at the pair of them as he pushed away from the wall and stepped into the kitchen. “Long enough,” he said haughtily, looking between them. “Who do I have to shag —” he enunciated the word delicately and Hermione bit back a groan “— around here to get breakfast?”

Draco’s eyes flashed dangerously, though Hermione knew he wasn’t so much angry with Blaise as he was annoyed that he had interrupted them. “What do you want?”

“Breakfast,” Blaise answered slowly, drawing out the word as if he was trying to teach a young child to speak properly. “I’m hungry,” he added with a shrug and a wicked grin.

“Of course you are,” Draco grumbled, stomping back to the stove. “You might as well sit down,” he huffed over his shoulder after a moment of silent warring with himself. “I’ve lost my real appetite.”

Hermione suppressed a chuckle, though she was still highly embarrassed that Blaise had caught them in such a position. She slid off the counter without looking at him and took her seat at the breakfast bar, leaving a stool between her and the dark-haired wizard so that Draco could sit in the middle.

Draco didn’t seem too pleased with the arrangement, however. He sneered as he took his place after setting the pile of steaming pancakes in front of them. With a wave of his wand, plates appeared and without saying a word, he gestured for Hermione to serve herself first.

It wasn’t the morning she had envisioned - neither when she had woken, nor when she had arrived in the kitchen to find that everything was okay between her and Draco. Blaise seemed oblivious to the awkwardness and immediately launched into a blow by blow description of his evening, with in-depth detail into some fiery redhead’s behaviour on the dance floor.

“Gross,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose. “I’m trying to eat.”

Blaise chuckled and neatly cut off a small piece of pancake before bringing it to his lips. “It sounds like I wasn’t the only one having some fun though, eh?” He knocked Draco’s shoulder playfully, and the blond stiffened.

“It’s none of your business, Zabini.” His tone was harsh and Hermione glanced up, concerned that she had somehow, inadvertently, created a rift between the two best friends.

The intense atmosphere remained for a few more agonising seconds, but then Blaise threw his head back and laughed. “I respect that,” he said, stabbing another piece of pancake.

From then on, breakfast was a mostly enjoyable affair, until— 

“Listen,” Blaise said after he had dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “I think it’s time I returned to Italy. My goal is still to move back to England —” he held up his hand to stop Hermione from interrupting “— but I’ve done all I can here in the way of establishing and promoting my business. I need to tie up the loose ends.”

Hermione was surprised at the sudden heavy feeling in her stomach. Gently, she placed her cutlery on her plate and pushed it away from her; her appetite had mysteriously disappeared. She had not stopped to consider her relationship with Blaise Zabini - not really. She classified him as a friend, but she had not realised until now - now that he was telling her he was leaving - just how important he had become to her.

“When will you be back?” she asked, cutting Draco off before he could ask the same question.

“I don’t know.” Blaise smiled sadly. “Hopefully soon/ Maybe by Christmas.”

Hermione nodded. Logically, she knew that it wasn’t that far away. Unfortunately, that logic didn’t extend into her chest.

Draco cleared his throat and Hermione was grateful for the sound as it forced her back into the present. “When will you leave?”

“A few days.” Blaise turned to Draco, his previously softened expression vanishing to be replaced with a friendly but emotionless facade. Ever the Slytherin. “I need to hand over to my new Vice in London and ensure my assistant won’t keel over and die while I’m away…” The corner of his lips quirked into a half-smile.

Draco nodded. “Okay,” he said simply, and then returned to his pancakes as if nothing had happened.

If Hermione had not known better she would have thought that Blaise’s announcement had not affected the blond wizard in the slightest, but as he sat on the stool, his back rigid and muscles taut beneath the twinkling of the torches hanging above their heads, it was clear from Draco’s posture that the news had rattled him. She knew it would do no good to point this out, however, so when Blaise stood suddenly and marched from the room without saying anything further, Hermione simply placed her hand on Draco’s leg and squeezed.

________________________________________

Draco was pacing, his hands tucked behind his back as he frowned down at the carpet. Hermione had left just an hour ago, and he was surprised at how much he already missed her - but that was not the reason for his deep contemplation. Blaise’s news had hit him harder than he had anticipated. He would never admit it aloud - not even to himself - but he loved his mate dearly, and though he had often wished he would return to Italy during his house arrest, the thought of the Manor without Blaise in it was not as welcome as it would have been two months ago.

He came to a stop in front of the window and sighed, watching the rain beat steadily down on to the Manor gardens. His study was his place of refuge, a place he could enjoy solitude and peace to think and analyse and reflect...He had spent many a night in this room trying to figure out how he was going to save his mother, how he was going to deal with having Hermione Granger as a case manager...and what to do about the feelings he had inadvertently acquired for the talented, feisty witch.

A reluctant smile curved at his mouth; thoughts of Blaise and what his return to Italy would mean for Draco vanished as Hermione’s face swam into his mind. Last night had been amazing, and he was shocked at how ready he felt for her to stay over again. She was easy to be around, something that also came as a surprise; who would have thought the Gryffindor bookworm would turn out to be the best thing to ever happen to him?

Two sharp knocks sounded at the door, but before Draco could pull himself completely from his reverie, the door swung open and Lucius stepped over the threshold.

“Thought I’d find you here,” his father said by way of greeting. “I hope that silly smile is due to the fact you will be signing your contract with Miss Greengrass in a week.”

Any semblance of positive feeling vanished with those words and Draco’s expression fell quickly into a sneer. “I’m not interested,” he said flatly.

“That’s not the point,” Lucius said, his eyes narrowing as he kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot. “The future of the Malfoy name lies in your hands and I will not have you undo the centuries of purity all for a lowly —”

“Don’t —” Draco grit his teeth, his hands balling into fists at his sides “— finish that sentence.”

Lucius smirked. “Miss Granger is fun, Draco, and should you wish to keep her as your mistress after your marriage and production of an heir, then I will allow it.” He pointed a gloved finger at Draco and met his gaze with a hard glare. “But not until then.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I will not marry Astoria; nor will I marry anyone you force under my nose. I will marry when I am ready, and I will marry whom I want to spend the rest of my life with. Regardless of blood status. I very much doubt I could do any more damage to the Malfoy name than you’ve already done.”

Lucius moved quickly, but the years in Azkaban had weakened him considerably. It was this, and the fact that Draco had anticipated his reaction, that enabled the younger Malfoy to prevent from being slapped across the face. He caught his father’s wrist in his fist and squeezed as hard as he could.

“We have guests,” Lucius hissed before wrenching his arm from his grip and stalking from the room. Draco did not miss the way his father rotated his opposite hand around the arm he had caught, and a hot surge of morbid pleasure coursed through his chest. After all the years Lucius had physically bullied Draco, it felt wonderful to finally repay the favour.

________________________________________

In the sitting room, Draco found a small gathering of people seated around the coffee table, which was laden with tea and tiny pastries. Miksy bustled around the perimeter of the group, inconspicuously filling tea cups and serving biscuits to people who did not acknowledge her existence.

“Ah, Draco!” Lucius announced in a formal voice. It had been so long since Draco had lived with Lucius during a time when he would have cause for such a tone, and it grated his eardrums. “Come here and let me introduce you to Mister and Mrs Greengrass.” His smile spread from ear to ear, ever the gracious host, but his eyes were cold.

Mutely, Draco moved further into the room - unwilling to be impolite - and obediently shook hands with the tall, slim woman with iron-grey hair pulled into an elegant knot at the back of her head, and the equally wiry man in an ill-fitting suit.

“How do you do?” he murmured.

“And of course, you know Astoria.” Lucius gestured to his left with a small smirk. 

Draco did know Astoria - by name. He had been in her sister’s year at Hogwarts, though he had never had much to do with Daphne either. He knew the elder sister had been friends with Tracey Davis. Pansy didn’t associate with them much, preferring the company of Draco and his cronies, and sometimes Blaise. He, of course, was aware of Blaise’s less-than-esteemable relationship with the elder Greengrass, though the Italian had never gone into details, and Draco had never been interested enough to ask.

“Hello,” the young witch said, allowing him to kiss the back of her hand.

He could not deny that Astoria was pretty. She had long blonde hair which curled effortlessly out towards her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were blue, and Draco imagined they would sparkle when she smiled, should she not currently be in such a miserable situation. It was clear from the way she briefly regarded him from beneath thick, dark eyelashes that she didn’t want to be here any more than he did. His heart went out to her, and he offered her a small smile. She did not return it.

Draco settled himself across from the girl in the armchair Hermione used to sit in, and he could not help the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth; if only his father knew.

“So, tell us about yourself, Draco,” Mister Greengrass said, adjusting his trousers and leaning forward as if he could appraise his future son-in-law better from this angle. He frowned as he made eye contact with the blonde, and peered at him with clear brown eyes. Draco fought the urge to squirm.

What would you like to know? Draco wanted to ask. I was Marked by the most evil wizard of all time; drafted into a war for a cause I didn’t want to believe in; spent the first five years of my adult life in prison for participating in said war, and now I’m being forced to marry someone I don’t care about because my father is a raging psychopath.

“Actually,” Astoria turned to her father with a tight smile. “I was hoping that he could give me a tour of the Manor.” 

Draco wasn’t about the argue. Any excuse to get out of this stuffy situation was good enough for him. “Sure,” he said, standing and extending his hand towards her. “Let me show you the library.”

He was aware of three pairs of eyes on his back as Astoria took his arm, and he led her from the sitting room. Once they were out of sight, he dropped her arm and they walked in silence until he was sure they could not be overheard.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “I just couldn’t stand it a minute longer.”

“I take it you’re not exactly thrilled with the arrangement?” Draco folded his arms across his chest and leant against the closed library door.

She shook her head and flashed him an apologetic smile. “No offence, but I don’t want to marry you.”

Draco chuckled. “No offence taken.”

“Really?”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Really.” He felt that he could have left it there, but something compelled him to explain further. “I’m involved with someone else, and while it’s still early days, marrying you would slightly complicate things in our relationship.”

Astoria grinned. “Yes, it certainly would.” She moved so that she was pressed against the door next to him, her posture mimicking his.

They stood there like that for a long while, enjoying a surprisingly comfortable silence. Draco allowed his eyes to close. He would have been happy to stay there for the rest of the visit if Blaise had not come barrelling down the stairs, interrupted them.

“Draco? Where are you?”

Draco pushed himself away from the door and his eyes snapped open. “Near the library,” he called back, turning on the spot as he awaited the appearance of his friend. “Is Mother okay?”

“Yeah,” Blaise said, rounding the corner. “She’s fine, I just needed to —” He stopped as his gaze settled on Astoria, whose back was still leaning lazily against the door of the library. “Oh, hello,” he greeted the blonde witch before turning his attention back to Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes as Blaise positively glared at him. “This is Astoria Greengrass,” he supplied. “We’re hiding from our parents as they plan a wedding neither one of us want.”

“Oh.” Blaise blinked. “Oh.” With that, his usual easy grin returned and he relaxed his posture. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Blaise Zabini.” He stepped forward and offered his hand to Astoria, who swept her gaze from his shoes to the top of his head before allowing him to kiss it.

“I know who you are,” she murmured, holding his gaze.

Draco glanced between them and internally groaned. He had seen that look on Blaise’s face before, and he mentally added ‘warn Astoria away from the playboy’ to his to do list.

________________________________________

Later than evening, Draco and Blaise were finishing a bottle of Firewhiskey in Draco’s office when an owl interrupted them, its beak clicking against the glass. A pang of guilt shot through Draco as he hurried to lift the pane and allow the owl into the room; he had not contacted Hermione since she left this morning, despite promising that he would owl before dinner.

The meeting with the Greengrasses had gone on longer than he would have thought, and then Blaise had asked him to have a drink with him. They had done nothing but discuss Astoria, and if Draco didn’t know better he would have said his friend was quite taken with the blonde witch.

He took the scroll from the owl’s leg and offered it a treat before following it back to the window and watching it disappear into the clear night. His stomach twisted; was Hermione not expecting a response?

Unfurling the parchment, he groaned loudly as he scanned the contents, causing Blaise to jump up from his chair. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s the contract.” Draco seethed, letting the parchment roll back up without reading it.

Blaise made a face. “How bad is it?”

“I don’t need to look at it to know it’s terrible.” Draco barked a laugh and ran an irritated hand through his hair. “Lucius was the one who drew it up…” he trailed off, letting the implication of his words hang in the air. 

They fell into an uncomfortable silence as Draco paced jerkily, clenching the scroll in one hand so hard it crumpled in his palm. Why was it that after all this time, his father could still control his life? Surely the Ministry could help; they wouldn’t allow an unwanted arranged marriage in the twenty-first century...would they?

“I have to go,” Draco said suddenly. Without breaking his stride or waiting for a response from Blaise, he picked up a handful of Floo powder, tossed it into the fireplace, and called, “Hermione Granger’s flat!”

Within seconds, he stepped out of her grate, dusting soot from his shirt. She was sitting in the armchair, reading, but she glanced up as he appeared. “Hello,” she said, smiling despite her shocked expression.

“Hi,” he said sharply, wincing as his tone caused the smile to slip from her face. In an effort to make up for it, he stepped forward and cupped her cheek in his hand before bending down and brushing a chaste kiss to her lips.

“What’s going on?” she asked as he pulled away.

“Please tell me that the Ministry has some sort of law against arranged marriages.” He thrust the roll of parchment into her hand without further explanation.

Hermione frowned as she unfurled it. “The Ministry has been run by Purebloods since its beginning, either because they were in positions of power, or helped to line the pockets of those who were. There is no law against it, that I know of at least…” She trailed off so that she could read over the contract, her mouth moving in time with the words as she went.

Draco paced up and down her living room as the silence stretched on, a raging ocean of mixed emotions swirling inside of him. Had Lucius not already done enough damage during the war? And prior to that...he had never been a good father. He had spoiled Draco and taught him that he was superior to everyone else because of his last name...but when Draco had not achieved to a standard of perfection, Lucius had been incredibly harsh. It wasn’t fair that he had escaped Azkaban and was once again controlling Draco’s life. 

“Have you read this?” Hermione’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, her gaze lingering on the fine print below the signature line.

“No,” he admitted, making his way to the three-seater lounge and throwing himself down on it. “Why?”

“It’s rather in depth, for starters...I’ve seen contracts for murder with less clauses.”

Draco snorted. “And you’re surprised because…?”

Hermione shook her head. “This is airtight; if either of you break the agreements outlined in here —” she shook the parchment gently “— your assets will be frozen, your children could be taken from you…”

“What?” he growled. “My children could be taken from me?” 

“It says so right here.” Hermione leaned over and pointed out a paragraph towards the end of the scroll. 

Draco snatched it from her and skimmed it quickly. “They go to Lucius,” Draco breathed. 

“It says they go to any living grandparent, or grandparents.” Hermione frowned. “So Astoria’s parents —”

“No,” Draco spat, a blazing heat crawling up his neck. “They’ll end up with Lucius, he’ll make sure of it.” He continued to read. “Here,” he said, hitting the parchment with the back of his hand. “It says that they will be left with a surviving grandparent, and it lists Astoria’s parents and Lucius by name...my mother isn’t mentioned. I wouldn’t put it past him to dispose of anyone who might stand between him and his grandchildren.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot towards her hairline and Draco nodded slowly, confirming her non-verbal question. But why is Lucius trying to write Mother out of this agreement? Does he not think she will survive? Or does he think that she would oppose it?

Draco’s fist clenched around the parchment, squashing it slightly in his hand. He had always assumed his parents had the same philosophy when it came to parenting him. His father had always been more domineering, but he had never thought of his mother as a wallflower; perhaps he had never stopped to consider what went on behind the closed door of their bedroom. Maybe his mother was not as invested in a life of Pureblood supremacy as Lucius was...

Draco sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. The contract seemed poised to bring more misery than he had first imagined, but now was not the time to concern himself with it; he needed to speak to his father before burdening Hermione with more of his family drama. “I met Astoria today,” he blurted out in an attempt to steer the conversation away from Lucius. “She actually seems nice enough.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Oh,” she said, and then licked her lips. “She’s Daphne’s sister, right?” 

Draco cleared his throat, aware of the awkwardness he had just sprinkled on to the already heavy conversation. “Yeah. She was at Hogwarts until her fifth year, and then her parents sent her abroad to live with an aunt. She attended Ilvermorny in America.”

“Did you know her as a child?” Hermione’s tone was light, but the way her eyes narrowed at him as she spoke told Draco that she wasn’t entirely comfortably discussing the woman who could was set to become his wife, however unwillingly. 

“Of her,” he said. “We probably met at a gala or something, but honestly my childhood was full of such things, I can never remember what events happened at which party; it’s just one big blur.” 

Hermione made a noise of pity and Draco tensed; he didn’t want to focus on the woes of a childhood in high society. “I think Blaise has a thing for her.” He had meant to sound light and funny, but it came out as stiff and forceful. He cleared his throat and tried again. “He hasn’t seen her in so many years, I think he forgot Daphne even had a sister. The way he looked at her today though, you’d think he’d never seen a woman before.”

Hermione chuckled, and relief flooded Draco’s chest; if she had noticed a change in him, she didn’t let on. She leaned across the arm of the chair and Draco thought she was going to kiss him, but then she tugged the parchment from his hands and settled back in her seat. “If only we could get Blaise to propose to Astoria, you’d be free.”

“What?” Draco blinked stupidly, 

“In the fine print,” she said slowly. “The last clause states that if either of you were to become engaged with another suitor of whom both biological parents approve, then the contract will be dissolved.” 

Draco’s heart stuttered against his ribcage. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “This is it; this is how I get out of the engagement!”

“Um…” Hermione frowned. “Draco, I know Blaise loves you, but do you really think you could convince him to marry a girl he doesn’t even know?”

Draco blinked at her. “You managed to convince him to have sex with a girl he didn’t know.”

Hermione made a noise halfway between a snort and a laugh. “I think that may have been a little different.”

Draco’s mind raced. “It’s the only way; I can’t do it, says so right here.” He stabbed his forefinger at the parchment. “If I were to become betrothed to anyone else while this contract is still being considered, Merlin only knows what Lucius would do…” he trailed off, allowing the implication of his words to hang, almost suffocating, between them.

He couldn’t care less about money, but he wasn’t sure where his mother fit in to all this. In her fragile state, Draco wouldn’t put it past his father to use her as bait to control him. Narcissa was finally on the mend and Draco wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardise that. Setting Blaise up with Astoria would be easy enough to do without making Lucius suspicious, which meant that the Malfoy matriarch would be safe.

Hermione cleared her throat, bringing him back into the present - though he was not entirely vested in the conversation. “If getting out of this mess relies on Blaise Zabini proposing marriage to an actual woman, I think you are very much screwed any way you look at it.”

Draco offered her a half-hearted smile. “I have to talk to Blaise.”

With that, he stepped forward and pressed a quick kiss to her lips before making his way back to her fireplace. He waved as he disappeared from her grate, chuckling under his breath at the look of bewildered frustration on her face.

“Blaise,” he said as he stepped back into his study. “I have a proposition for you.”

His friend was still seated in the same spot he had been when Draco left. Blaise grinned wickedly as he faced him. “If it involves a threesome with Hermione then I am definitely in, but I must ask that you don’t look me directly in the eye when -”

“Blaise!” Draco growled. “I need you to propose to Astoria Greengrass.”

The Italian’s grin fell away, only to be replaced with a disbelieving smile. He began to chuckle. “Sure, Draco. Shall I head to Gringotts now to purchase a suitable ring, or will you be explaining your ludicrous request before I go shopping?”

“I’ll be explaining my ludicrous request before you go shopping,” Draco deadpanned, thrusting the contract into Blaise’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you and massive hugs to my wonderful friend, ravenclaw-sass who went over this chapter with a fine-tooth comb. If it wasn’t for her, there would have been a massive plot hole – oops!


	26. Final Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is going right, as the only chance of nullifying the contract heads back to Italy. A surprise visitor threatens a fragile Dramione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeep! I cannot believe I've now written the entire story! We're at the end, friends! I'll be updating every Wednesday and Sunday until we're done here, at chapter 32. Thank you so much for supporting me, and I hope you enjoy the last stretch of this rollercoaster <3
> 
> Much love to my betas, ravenclaw-sass and littlered1992. Without these ladies I'd be nowhere. N O W H E R E!! *squishy hugs*

Draco knew that he was asking too much; knew that he sounded absolutely crazy. He understood that his best friend hated the very idea of monogamy, and that asking something like this of him was unfair at best, and stupid at worst. Draco had never been one for taking a leap of faith—not before Azkaban and certainly not afterwards—and he didn't believe in placing your bets all on one broom… It was bad business practice, his father had taught him, but his father was also the reason he was here, pacing his study and ranting passionately as if he was trying to convince...well, like he was trying to convince an eternal bachelor to get married, and to a girl he barely knew, at that.

To his credit, Blaise listened, the ghost of a smile on his face as Draco ran quickly through the contract and what Hermione had said. Draco didn't mention that Hermione had been kidding when she suggested the solution, or that the brunette witch had also implied that the idea was insane.

_Well, if it's insane to want to protect your ailing mother and keep the girl, then load me into the fireplace and make room in the Janus Thickey ward…_

"I know this sounds nuts," Draco said, shooting Blaise a sideways glance as he wore a path across the room.

Blaise snorted indelicately. "Just a bit."

Draco ignored him. "It's the only way I can get out of the contract."  _Have I said that already?_  His head was practically vibrating with the speed with which he was envisioning telling his father that he wouldn't be signing the contract after all...

"And you think  _I'm_ your answer?" Blaise's voice snapped Draco out of his thoughts. The Italian was smirking, mirth dancing in his eyes.

Hot desperation settled over Draco like a cloak; if Blaise didn't take this seriously, he was doomed. "Yes," he answered carefully. "I saw the way you looked at Astoria, and it wouldn't have to be a  _forever_ thing—"

"No," Blaise interrupted firmly.

If he was being honest with himself, Draco had expected this reaction. The thought of Blaise being married was almost terrifying, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He just had to make Blaise see that it wouldn't be that bad, and didn't he—as his best friend— _want_  to help Draco out? Draco opened his mouth to articulate all of this, but Blaise cut him off again.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I understand the situation isn't good for you and Hermione… but I'm sure that between the two of you, you'll find a way out of this—" he waved his hand as he searched for the right word "—mess."

Draco scoffed. "You're being unfair to Hermione," he said stiffly. "If there  _was_ another way out of the contract, she would have found it already."

Blaise offered him a pitying look, an expression which seemed out of place on the Italian's face. "Even if I agreed to get  _engaged_ —" Blaise arched an eyebrow pointedly "—to Astoria, that wouldn't solve your issue. Lucius would just shove another witch under your nose and draw up another contract."

Draco's shoulders slumped as the reality of Blaise's words hit him full-force. He couldn't imagine Lucius setting him up with any of the remaining Sacred Twenty-Eight, but he supposed that if push came to shove, his father would consider Pansy an adequate punishment. He grimaced at the thought. "I'm sorry," he said. His tone was more formal than he intended, more monotonous, too. "I shouldn't have asked."

Blaise grimaced and then stood, stepping forward to clap a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I'm glad you did," he said. "It shows how much you care about Hermione. That counts for something."

"It counts for nothing if I can't get out of this engagement, Blaise." He lifted his chin so that he could look his friend in the eye. He shrugged Blaise's hand off of him and began to pace again, his hands held tightly behind his back.

"You haven't signed the contract yet," Blaise said slowly, carefully.

Draco barked a harsh laugh. Surely, Blaise wasn't that stupid. "You know as well as I do that my signature is just a formality—Lucius is still my father, regardless of how I may feel."

Blaise swore softly under his breath and Draco grunted in understanding. The Malfoy family, just as every other Pureblood family, made use of ancient magic dating further back than books themselves. The contract may simply be written on a flimsy piece of parchment which would burn upon being set alight, and Draco could indeed refuse to sign it...but that wouldn't set him free of the betrothal.

As Draco was 'single'—that is, he had not found a witch his parents deemed  _suitable_ for marriage—it was up to his parents to find him a bride, and because his mother was still unconscious, Lucius held all of the power. The fact that Draco was in his mid-twenties did little to help his case, given that in Pureblood society, the parents held full custody of all decisions their offspring may have to make, thanks to the ancient magic of millenia past.

It was a barbaric practice, not often used, but Draco wouldn't put it past Lucius to have ensured that severe punishment would befall him—or his mother—should he disagree to do as his father wished. He was as good as married.

Blaise attempted to smirk, but it came off as more of a grimace. "Come on," he drawled. "You managed to convince the brightest witch of our age that you're a halfway decent bloke; convincing dear ol' dad to let you out of a miserable union should be a walk in the park compared to that."

While Draco appreciated the sentiment, he couldn't quite bring himself to join Blaise in a state of faux-cheerfulness. "I think I'll just go to bed."

"Wait!" Blaise said, dropping the act. He cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed by his insistent cry. "I'm leaving for Italy first thing in the morning." He fiddled with the button on his suit jacket as he made eye contact with Draco. "I probably won't be back for a month or so…"

Draco nodded curtly. "Okay," he said. "Safe travels."

With that, he turned on his heels and strode from the room, not bothering to look back over his shoulder at Blaise's attempt at calling him back. He was not one for goodbyes at the best of times, and right now he just needed to be alone. He would miss Blaise, but he was also irrationally angry at the Italian right now.

_It's not like it would have to be forever,_  Draco thought savagely as he reached his room and began to undress.  _All he'd have to do is ensure an annulment clause was embedded in the contract so after a year or so, they could divorce and be on their merry way._

Now dressed in only his briefs, Draco threw back the covers with more force than strictly necessary before climbing in and pummeling his pillow until it was more flat than fluffed. He exhaled forcefully through his mouth and tried to focus on conceiving another plan. His brain, stuck in the throes of childish entitlement, would only allow him a few moments reprieve before it would drag him back to the face of his friend, taunting him with the fact that without Blaise, Draco would be forced into a marriage neither he nor his bride-to-be wanted.

* * *

Fatigue had well and truly settled into Hermione's bones by the time she collapsed on to her couch on Friday night. She was spending all of her free time researching Pureblood family magic pertaining to marriage contracts, and so far she had come up with nothing. The only viable way Draco would be released from his obligation was if Lucius suddenly had a change of heart.

Draco had simply scoffed when she told him that, and Floo'd back to the manor without a backwards glance. Hermione, though hurt, also felt relieved as the emerald flames swirled around him and then took the blond wizard away from her grate. She had received an apologetic owl this morning, but at this point she was too exhausted to seriously worry about the ever-changing emotions of her highly strung boyfriend.

The TV had just blared to life when a knock sounded from her front door. Hermione paused the screen with a wave of her hand to be sure she had heard correctly; as the rapping noise came again, she sighed heavily and threw her head back into the soft cushioning of the couch, before forcing herself from her comfortable sitting position. She padded towards the door, intent on giving whoever was on the other side of it a piece of her tattered mind.

"Ron!" Whoever she had been expecting—salesman or hitman—it had not been her anxious-looking ex-fiancé. "What are you doing here?"

He squinted down at her, the rain misting in the glow of the streetlamp just behind him. "Er… hi," he said. "Hermione…" he added, seemingly as an afterthought. "Can I come in?"

Too shocked to refuse, Hermione stepped backwards and allowed him to pass her. She shut the door and then turned to face him, wiping her suddenly-clammy hands on the front of her jeans. "S-sit down," she said, gesturing robotically towards the couch.

Ron shook his head. "This won't take long."

Hermione waited, watching him as he clenched and unclenched his hands at his side and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He would not look at her, instead taking in the knick-knacks lining the shelves of her living room. His gaze finally settled on a moving picture of Hermione, Harry, and Ron taken during their first year of Hogwarts.

Hermione had contemplated smashing it along with all of the other memories of her adulterous ex, but Harry had stopped her in time to save this particular photograph. He had said that she would regret it, eventually… He had been right, and Hermione felt an odd surge of gratitude towards the black-haired wizard.

"What can I help you with?" she asked. Usually, Hermione would have offered tea, but Ron had said it wouldn't take long, which she took to mean that he didn't want to stay. She folded her arms across her chest and watched as Ron mimicked her movements.

"I wanted to apologise," he said quietly—so quietly that Hermione thought she may have misheard him.

"I'm sorry?"

"Exactly." He dropped one hand to his side again, and the other came up to rub the back of his neck. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. I know that doesn't mean anything," he hastened to add, and Hermione realised that her face had pinched up into what was inevitably a scowl. "But I need you to know that I  _am_ sorry for what happened between us."

Hermione's stomach dropped to her knees. She had waited to hear these words from Ron for so long, and now that he was here, speaking them, she wasn't sure what to do with herself. "Are you sure you don't want to sit down?" she asked, her voice unnaturally high. Her heart was beating furiously against her ribcage and she hugged herself tighter, using the movement to wipe her hands down her sides as they overheated again.

"No!" Ron said emphatically. "I just—I just need to… say this." He ran a hand through his hair and allowed his head to tip back with the movement, until he was staring at the ceiling. "I know me being here is weird, and too many years too late." He exhaled forcefully through his mouth and Hermione noted that there were tears in his clear blue eyes as he met her gaze again.

So many emotions were swirling within her chest, and Hermione wasn't sure if she was simply overwhelmed or perhaps having a heart attack. Her own eyes burned with the telltale signs of tears and she blinked them back furiously; this man didn't deserve any more of them, regardless of how remorseful he was.

"Ron, I—"

He held up a large hand, palm facing toward her and Hermione snapped her mouth shut. "I know I was a terrible boyfriend, and an even worse fiancé, and I am so sorry for what I put you through," he whispered. He took a deep, rattling breath before continuing. "But what I regret the most is that I threw away our friendship; you were my best friend and you—and Harry as well—deserved so much better than me. I'm glad that you have better than me now." Tears were freely running down his face, and he used the back of his sleeve to swipe harshly at them. "I didn't mean to get so emotional." He sniffed and then chuckled thickly.

Hermione offered him a watery smile in return, shaking where she stood and unsure of how to proceed. What was one to say to the man who had broken her heart into a million pieces and then used the shards to continue stabbing her over the better part of a decade? What was the correct response when he was in your living room, crying and apologising? Hermione had always imagined that she would slam the door in his face, or throw something at him—perhaps use one of Ginny's signature Bat-Bogey Hexes—but now it seemed all of the anger and all of the resentment had given way to...relief?

"I'm glad you came by," she heard herself say.

Ron shrugged, more composed now. "It's well overdue."

Hermione nodded. "Well, thank you."

"I'm divorcing Vivienne," he blurted out, his eyes wide as if he hadn't meant to tell her that. "Er—"

"Oh." Hermione blinked, watching as the tips of his ears tinged pink.

"Yeah." He coughed forcefully. "So, um, she shouldn't be giving you any more trouble; her father's sent her off to Prague."

Hermione nodded to indicate that she had heard, but was unsure what to say to that. She couldn't pretend that she was upset to hear that the woman who had made her professional life—as well as her personal life—far more difficult than it needed to be had finally received her comeuppance.

"I just thought you'd like to know," Ron said weakly in an obvious attempt to keep the conversation flowing.

"I would...I mean, I do." Hermione cleared her throat. "Um, because it means that she won't be bothering me..." she hastened to add, glancing at her feet and then back up at the red-haired wizard, an uncomfortable smile stretching across her face.

For a moment, they both hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. The conversation had run its course, but neither knew how to end it. Ron finally stuck out his hand in a sloppy offering of a handshake, as at the same time Hermione stepped forward, her arms lifted slightly in preparation for a hug. They stopped and then giggled, the sound reverberating around the space and easing some of the tension.

Ron lowered his hand and stepped forward, enveloping Hermione in a warm hug. She had forgotten just how comforting his embrace could be, and though the action held a different meaning than it once had, she relaxed as he held her against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was somehow familiar, as was the smell of his soft laundry detergent and spicy cologne.

She inhaled deeply as they stood there, the world seemingly righting itself around them. Hermione knew she would never again have romantic feelings for this man, and they may never be best friends again—some things just could not be undone, no matter how sorry one was—but for now, this was enough. This was healing.

"What the buggering  _fuck_  is going on here?"

Hermione jumped backwards out of Ron's reach as the ginger-haired man turned with a frown on his face to greet the intruder. "Malfoy," he said through clenched teeth.

Hermione groaned. Of all the possible times—

"Well?" Draco pushed past Ron to stare accusingly at Hermione.

She noted that his hair was dishevelled, uncombed and ungelled, hanging limp across his forehead. He was wearing worn Muggle jeans and a well-fitting knitted jumper, the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. If it hadn't been for the murderous glint in his eye and steady tic in his jaw, Hermione would have found the whole image incredibly sexy.

"R-Ronald was just—"

"Mate, I wasn't—"

"I'm not your  _mate,_ Weasley!" Draco spat, rounding on Ron.

Instinctively, Hermione grabbed his arm as if to stop him from lifting it and planting a knock-out punch along Ron's jaw. "Draco, he came to—"

"I don't know what game you think you're playing—" Draco ignored Hermione's failed explanation and was intently staring at Ron with a level of hate Hermione had never witnessed on his pale face "—but if you think I'm going to let you swoop in and—"

"I'm not  _swooping_  anywhere!" Ron shouted in order to be heard over Draco's outburst. "If you weren't so  _insecure_ —"

Draco growled and Hermione gripped his arm tighter as it twitched under her palm. "Fuck off, Weasley."

"Ron, maybe you should just—"

"Hermione, I don't feel comfortable leaving you here with—"

"Oh!" Draco wrenched his arm from Hermione's grasp so that he could poke Ron in the chest. "If anyone should feel  _uncomfortable_  it should be  _me_ —I'm the one who's walked in on my girlfriend  _canoodling_  with her piece of shit ex!" He sneered up at Ron, rage rolling off of him in waves.

Ron's expression was thunderous as he glanced over at Hermione, who nodded jerkily towards the door. "Whatever." He huffed. "If you need anything…" he said to Hermione as he passed her.

"She won't be calling you!" Draco yelled after him.

Hermione would be forever grateful that Ron did not turn around and instead stalked towards the door,disappearing over the threshold.

Silence descended eerily over the living room as the echo of the door slamming dissipated. Hermione folded her arms over her chest and arched an eyebrow at Draco, who had the decency to look slightly chastised.

"What did Weasley want?" Draco was so clearly biting down on his anger that Hermione almost laughed.

"He came over to apologise," she said pointedly.

Hermione was aware of Draco's feelings towards Ron—even before the epic fail that was the relationship of the ' _golden girl'_  and  _Harry Potter's 'right-hand man_ ', it was no secret that the Malfoy heir had never had a nice thing to say about the Weasleys, and least of all the youngest son. That didn't mean, however, that he could just waltz into her apartment and start an all-out war.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I see."

"Do you?" Frustration bubbled in her chest as the question passed her lips. The fact that she had to force the truth from Draco annoyed her. She knew that he had never liked Ron—or Harry, for that matter—but Hermione had thought that he respected  _her_  at least.

There was a moment of pause, and then: "No!" Draco exploded, throwing his arms wide. "I came over to discuss my  _predicament_ —which concerns you too, by the way—and I find you  _hugging_ Weasley!" He was now pointing towards the spot where he had caught the pair in an embrace, as if the scene was replaying to underline his argument.

" _Which concerns you too_?" Hermione repeated, anger building within her gut. "As if I haven't spent the last week—every waking moment, Draco—researching and poring over books and talking to anyone I thought may be able to help? Seriously, you're going to throw that in my face right now?"

"That's hardly the point!" Draco seethed, his eyebrows raised as if he could not believe her inability to grasp his view.

"Oh, but it is!" Hermione spat back, her hands now dropping back by her side and clenching into fists. "That's exactly the point! You've hardly  _looked_ at me all week, and when I last saw you and told you that I hadn't miraculously pulled an answer to your problem from  _thin fucking air_ , you stormed off!"

"I sent an owl!"

Hermione lost the ability to speak. She threw her hands up in the air and made an infuriated grunting noise, turning around slightly as if the answer to all of her problems lay on the couch behind her.

After all she had done to help Draco, he was going to ungratefully throw it back in her face and try to make out that she was the bad guy? Hermione knew that he had always been a bit possessive, coveting what was his and always trying to outdo those around him, but she was not a possession and would not be treated as such.

"I'm not a plaything, Draco," she told him quietly, still facing the couch. "And I'm more than capable of looking after myself where Ron is concerned. I don't need you to save me, and I certainly won't thank you for keeping me from anyone I consider a friend."

"You consider Weasley a friend?"

Hermione didn't have to look at him to know that Draco's face was caught between a look of incredulity, and an ugly sneer. "I'm not sure," she replied honestly. "But if we do agree to move past our issues and decide to be friends, you won't be able to stop me."

When she turned back to face Draco, chest heaving with the exertion of trying to contain all of her emotions and fighting the burning sensation at the corners of her eyes, she noted that his face had softened slightly.

"I know," he said after a few seconds of silence. "I'm sorry for losing my cool with Weasley—" he spat the name as if it were something that tasted particularly foul "—but as you can imagine I'm under just a bit of pressure right now." He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest. "And walking in to see my girlfriend in the arms of another bloke—a bloke who once ripped her fucking heart out and stomped all over it—didn't do much for my state of mind." He took a step towards her and Hermione swore she saw the corners of his lips quirk up. "Please forgive me?"

He closed the distance between them and Hermione sighed as she leant in to the hug. He allowed her to tuck herself beneath his chin for a few moments before he pulled back slightly and tilted her chin up. His lips were soft against hers at first, quickly becoming more insistent. Hermione matched his movements, threading her hands into his hair and holding him close. She knew that he had behaved irrationally upon spotting Ron, but it was so good to really  _feel_  him again.

Too soon he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. "Granger?" he whispered, his thumb stroking her cheek as he continued to hold her to him.

"Mmm?" she asked, her eyes still closed.

"That was our first proper fight as a couple."

At the sound of the obvious grin in his voice, Hermione pulled further away and opened her eyes. His expression was sheepish, but his eyes were heated and she couldn't help returning his smile.

"I guess we never really discussed the whole Pansy debacle…"

"Because there was nothing to discuss," Draco said firmly, the hand on her waist tightening its grip.

"Just as there isn't anything to discuss in terms of Ron." She arched an eyebrow to underline her point.

Draco rolled his eyes and then planted a kiss on her forehead. "Fine," he said.

Hermione didn't believe that he meant that, but she appreciated him trying. She knew there would always be tension between Draco and her friends; she only hoped it would lessen with time. For now, she was content with forgiving the blond whose arms were still wound tightly around her middle.

As Draco walked her backwards, his lips now connected to the sweet spot just beneath her ear, Hermione couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. She wanted to help him more than anything else—the problem was that even with the wealth of knowledge contained inside her head, there were some things about the Wizarding world that could not be learnt from books. Pureblood rituals and ancient magic developed and held as sacred secrets by those families were beyond her scope.

"Are you sure you want to—?" Hermione managed to gasp as his teeth sank into her flesh.

"Definitely," he whispered, his lips ghosting across her skin in a way that made it tingle in the most delicious way. "No matter what happens, I'm not going to let this go…"

And with that, Hermione stopped thinking. Their problems would still be there after they properly made up for their little lovers spat.

* * *


	27. Murphy's Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know the saying; anything that can go wrong, probably will go wrong...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks and crushing hugs go to ravenclaw-sass and littlered1992 for being such wonderful betas!
> 
> I am so enjoying hearing what you guys think! Thank you for your comments and PMs! :D xx

 

Draco could barely remember a time in which he had been in control of his own life. As a child, he was expected to talk a certain way, behave a certain way, and think a certain way. His future was laid out for him; graduate with the highest marks at Hogwarts, enter the family business, find a suitable wife, and produce a male heir. He had thought that was what he wanted.

While he was young, it was easy to ignore the gnawing sensation in his gut that he wasn't being authentic, but as he grew older he longed for some semblance of power over his future. The hope that one day he would be able to sit down with his parents and tell them that his dream was actually to help people, and that he didn't really understand the whole blood prejudice thing was dashed when the Dark Lord took up residence in their house.

He was sent like a lamb to slaughter when Lucius failed to retrieve the Prophecy at the end of his fifth year, forced to wear the burden of his father's mistake. It was then that Draco accepted that he would probably never call the shots; he was to die as a warning to the rest of the Death Eaters, without the promise of a future to plan at all.

In Azkaban, he lamented that his lack of making choices had landed him in the worst possible scenario. He was still no closer to making his own decisions...and then Hermione had come along, her help unbidden though welcome, though he would not have admitted that at the beginning of their tumultuous working relationship.

Finally, when his house arrest had been lifted, Draco thought he might actually be able to do something with his life that  _he_  could be proud of. That was, until Lucius returned home and took up the role of puppeteer. His father was once again pulling the strings and it made Draco feel sick with rage and impotence.

How the man had time to suck Draco's will to live from his very being without his wand and while under house arrest was beyond comprehension. Hermione had said that it was because controlling Draco was how Lucius kept a grip on his frayed sanity. Draco thought that his father was somehow powered by the souls of others.

More elves had been brought in by the Greengrass family so that Draco could barely step out of his room without tripping over a cluster of them.  _Surely it wouldn't take more than a few people to arrange a cake and some flowers,_  he thought savagely as a particularly small elf bowed low and stammered a garbled apology to Draco's shoes.

"It's fine," he muttered, waving the creature away.

He made his way to his mother's room and began his usual morning routine. He waved his wand in complicated movements so that the pillows would fluff themselves and the sheets and duvet settled comfortably around his mother's still-frail frame. She did not stir as he worked, not even when he opened the curtains and a wide band of yellow sunlight fell across her sleeping face.

Draco sighed as he took his seat beside her and took her hand. He brought it to his lips and brushed them over her knuckles. He had never been one to  _miss_ his mother—such an emotion was beneath a Malfoy, his father had taught him from a young age. It had been the elves who had raised him, and never the same one for a consistent length of time. Developing attachments was dangerous, or so Lucius thought. Draco remembered his father warning him before he got on the train for Hogwarts that friendship was for the middle class, and that he would fare better by making cronies out of the buffoons, Crabbe and Goyle.

Right now, however, the stabbing feeling in his chest was almost too much to bear as he gazed down at the limp figure curled into the side of the bed. He longed to talk to her; a proper conversation in which she would respond and offer advice, or comfort, or…  _something_.

Draco sighed and allowed her hand to slip from his grasp. The Healers would be here soon and he was hoping that his mother would choose this morning to show them that she was having periods of lucidity, because so far, the only time she seemed to wake was when they were alone. Draco was beginning to believe that the Healers thought he was making it up.

Right on time, the two women stepped through the grate which Draco had linked to St. Mungo's the night after Granger had saved his mother from certain death.

"Good morning," they greeted him quietly.

He nodded in response and moved to stand back against the wall while they worked. It was common decency, now that he knew that his mother was being appropriately cared for, to turn away while they lifted the sheets and changed her gown. He looked out the window which faced the forest to the south of the property. The trees were still and the sky was clear, an unusual occurrence as they were fast approaching December.

A gasp from behind him drew Draco quickly from his internal babbling about the weather and he turned to face the Healers. One was still bent over his mother, but the other was standing a few paces away from the bed, one hand clutched over her chest; she looked as though she had seen a ghost.

"Is she okay?" Draco demanded, striding quickly over to stand next to the Healer who was still working. "What happened?" His chest constricted as he spoke, the words being forced from his throat like toothpaste from an almost-empty tube.

"Sh-she squeezed my hand!" the other Healer whispered. Her eyes widened as she brought her own hand up to her face to inspect it.

Draco's heart leapt. "Mother?" he called over the shoulder of the Healer closest to him. "Mother, it's Draco. Can you hear me?"

Unwilling to get in the way as the Healer muttered spells without drawing breath while flicking her wand down the length of his mother's body, Draco hovered awkwardly at her elbow.

"Dra-co." The sound was barely there, but the Healers both froze and his slumped in relief as they registered that they had heard it too.

The Healer whose hand his mother had squeezed came quickly back to the other side of the bed and began running her own diagnostic spells while speaking in a calm, clear voice.

"Mrs Malfoy," she said. "Can you hear me? My name is Healer Murphy. Do you know where you are?"

Draco was pushed back to the foot of the bed and he stood, shuffling his weight from side to side impatiently, trying to see what they were doing. After a few minutes he could not stand it any longer and asked what was going on, but both Healers ignored him. He began to concoct scenarios in his head of what he would do to the women if anything happened to his mother and they didn't miraculously save her.

Finally, the older of the two turned to face him, a frown on her face. Tears had threatened, burning, at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them back as his stomach flipped over at her expression.

"What?" he barked. "What is it?"

"Mister Malfoy, I'm concerned for your mother's mental wellbeing."

His stomach plummeted towards his toes. "What?"

"Well, at first we thought that she was actually registering that you were in the room...but now we're not so sure." She licked her lips and placed a hand on her hip; Draco felt as though he might strangle her if she didn't get to the damn point soon . "Somewhere she recognises that you are important, but whether she knows that you are here, we don't know. Your mother is showing signs of cognitive degeneration, which may be a symptom of having been unconscious for so long, or—" the Healer paused and Draco's hands clenched into fists "—it could be a permanent condition due to a multitude of circumstances; Azkaban, lack of oxygen for an extended period of time…" she trailed off at the look on Draco's face.

"So, what you're saying…"

"What I'm saying, Mister Malfoy, is that we're still not sure of anything, and your mother is nowhere near out of the woods yet. We're going to increase our neurological observations, and visit four times per day instead of two."

Draco's throat felt as though someone had placed a balloon down there and blown it up, restricting his airway almost painfully. He attempted to swallow the forming lump, but it only seemed to grow. He nodded instead, his mind boggling at the very real possibility that his mother may not actually recognise him ever again. The stinging sensation in his eyes returned, and he quickly excused himself from the room.

* * *

Later that morning, Hermione arrived in the sitting room of Malfoy Manor and dusted off the front of her jeans. As she straightened up and made to move towards the hall and then towards Narcissa's room, she realised that she was not alone.

She had not expected Draco to greet her; his owl had sounded serious and she couldn't imagine him leaving his mother's side in order to walk her down a few corridors, but she hadn't been expecting  _this_ particular welcome party either.

"Miss Granger." Lucius' eyes glinted maliciously as he took in her appearance, his gaze roaming from the toes of her scuffed sneakers to the top of her head, where her wild hair was barely contained in a loose ponytail.

"Mister Malfoy," she murmured, making eye contact as soon as he had finished assessing her.

Hermione suspected that the Malfoy patriarch had not happened to be lounging in the sitting room during her arrival; he was here on purpose, which meant that he probably had something he wanted to say to her. But she wasn't interested in hearing it.

She made to move past him towards the archway which would lead to the entry hall. "If you'll excuse me," she said softly as he blocked her path. It was expected, but Hermione's chest turned cold and her fingers itched to reach for her wand which was sticking precariously out of her back pocket.

"Not so fast," Lucius said, his blank eyes, so much colder than Draco's had ever been, holding her in place. "I wish to speak to you about something that is of the utmost importance to me and my family."

Hermione swallowed her response—something along the lines of  _you don't understand the meaning of family_ —and turned to smile tightly up at the blond man.

He towered over her, and if Hermione was being honest she had to admit that Lucius did frighten her, but she couldn't let him know that. "Oh?" She quirked an eyebrow and settled for taking a step backwards out of his reach.

A cruel smirk curved at the corners of his mouth and Hermione suppressed a shudder. "I wanted to thank you, first and foremost," he said, his voice barely above a gravelly whisper. "Without your help, I wouldn't have a family."

Hermione narrowed her eyes unwittingly. "You're welcome," she murmured.

"I am eternally grateful for your help, Miss Granger." Lucius began to move, pacing in front of her, like how a lion may stalk its prey. His hands were tucked behind his back and he addressed the floor as he continued. "However, dating my son was never part of the bargain." He stilled once more, his gaze settling on her face.

Hermione stood glued to the spot, her back teeth clenched together as his words washed over her and permeated her brain. She should have known that Lucius would corner her at some point. The manor had been transformed into some sort of wedding boutique with vendors popping up randomly in different rooms, and elves carrying all sorts of objects from lengths of material, candelabras, and bouquets of flowers almost twice their size, all over the house. It really wasn't a shock that Lucius should corner her and basically tell her to get lost; Draco would be signing the contract in twenty-four hours, and the betrothal was as good as legal even without his autograph.

"With all due respect—" Hermione fought to keep the building anger out of her voice "—you underestimate your son, Mister Malfoy." Lucius' eyes flashed dangerously but Hermione rushed on. "Draco isn't you; he doesn't want the life you're so insistent on giving him. I think it's unwise to believe that he is going to roll over and do as you ask without question. You may force him into a marriage he doesn't want, but that doesn't mean he will stay there—or that he will follow any of your other instructions. Did you know he wants to become a Healer?"

Lucius' eyes widened and he gnashed his teeth together. "You don't know him," he spat. "Draco will marry Astoria and he'll be happy about it. I've already told him if he wishes to keep you around as a  _whore_  after they have produced a male heir then so be it, but—"

Hermione's vision blurred as rage surged through her veins, mixing with her magic and sending crackling energy through her limbs. "Excuse me?" she whispered. "I am not a  _whore_  and if you think Draco will—"

"Draco will do as he is told!" Lucius' voice was still low, but it held a dangerous finality and spittle was flying from his mouth.

"Draco is not a child!" Hermione, on the other hand, was shouting now, glaring at the man who was stupid enough to think that his son was still the pliant, scared sixteen-year-old he had inadvertently sent off to face his death. "He knows what he wants and he is tenacious in his pursuit of what makes him happy. He won't idly accept your bullshit anymore; if you can't see that, you're much more ignorant than I thought!"

"You don't know anything," Lucius snarled, stalking towards Hermione and towering over her in an obvious attempt to intimidate her; it didn't work—she was far too angry.

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Just keep telling yourself that," she hissed.

"I don't need to," Lucius countered. "You may think that you understand him and our ways, but there isn't any way a  _Mudblood_ —" he spat the word as if it physically hurt his tongue to pronounce "—could keep up with—"

"Lucius?" a new voice sounded from the archway and the irate man pushed away from where he had cornered Hermione against a wall to face the owner.

"Draco," he greeted, his cool tone laced with warning. "I was just chatting to Miss Granger here."

"I heard." Draco arched an eyebrow in apparent amusement, but the thunder in his eyes gave away his simmering rage. "And calling her names and invoking her inevitable wrath?"

Lucius snapped his mouth shut and a muscle began to work in his jaw. "I was merely  _explaining_  a few things—" he said through clenched teeth.

"Yes, well, your explanations bear no weight anymore,  _Father_." Draco sneered as he stalked further into the room. As he came to Hermione's side, he wrapped a hand around her wrist and then slid his fingers down to entwine with hers. "And Hermione here is far too intelligent to believe anything that comes out of your mouth. So if you'll excuse us..."

Draco tugged on Hermione's hand and she followed him towards the archway, leaving Lucius standing facing away from them in the middle of the room. As they reached the hallway, the elder Malfoy called out, "You're making a mistake."

But to whom he directed this statement, Hermione was not sure.

* * *

When they reached his mother's room, Draco locked the door behind them with a wave of his wand. He didn't lead her any further than just over the threshold before he began to explain what the Healer had told him that morning in a low voice. He was grateful that the brunette witch did not interrupt him as he spoke, but he avoided making eye contact lest he would see pity in her eyes. He didn't think he could handle it, not from Hermione.

When he finally finished, she took a deep breath and he finally met her gaze; relief flooded him as he registered nothing but fierce determination in her brown orbs. "Whatever happens, we'll deal with it," she said in a whisper.

They made their way over to the bed and sat on either side of the sleeping matriarch. Draco thought his mother looked incredibly peaceful. He was torn between desperately hoping for her lucidity and wanting to leave her in this blissful state.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked after a few minutes of calm silence. Draco arched an eyebrow in question;  _did she mean in terms of Mother?_  "I mean with the signing of the contract tomorrow."

Draco exhaled slowly through pursed lips, a soft whistling sound echoing around the room. He shrugged one shoulder and searched for the right words. It was not something he could put into words; it was a paradoxical feeling of simultaneous apathy and desperation. Apathy, because he was not able to control it; desperation because he wished he could.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly. He cleared his throat. "I'm trying not to think about it; Mother provides a good distraction." He leaned across the bed and took a cool, pale hand in his own. "Especially with the news of this morning."

Hermione hummed in agreement and Draco lifted his head to meet her gaze. He offered her a weak smile. "I'm glad you're here."

"Would you like me to be tomorrow, too?" she whispered.

Draco shook his head, a feeling of melancholy settling around him like how the cold of a bitter winter's day settled into one's bones. "No," he said. "It's best if you stay away for the…  _celebrations_ —" his mouth twisted around the word in an ugly sneer "—lest my father decides to add a death clause or something."

"Death clause?" Hermione tilted her head to the side and Draco allowed himself a brief moment of mirth as he realised that there was something that he knew that the Golden Girl did not.

"In the event of divorce, one or both parties instantly die. It hasn't been used since the nineteenth century," he assured her quickly, noting the look of horror on her face, "but I wouldn't put it past my father to bring it back…"

"Merlin." Hermione shook her head. "That's—"

"Yeah."

They fell silent at that, both lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

The dining room had been transformed by the swarm of House Elves during the day. The long table had been turned into a series of smaller round ones, with the middle one set for five people. Draco took his seat between his father and Astoria, who was looking pretty but aloof in a ivory-coloured cocktail dress which floated effortlessly insilky layers to her knees. Her blonde hair was piled elegantly on top of her head, and her lips were painted a glossy red.

Draco wasn't blind; she was beautiful, but as he leant in to kiss her cheek he could only feel repulsed by the sickly sweet smell of her perfume. His stomach rolled and he wondered whether his father would notice—or care—if he chose not to eat any of the food placed in front of him.

Dinner was a stiff, formal affair. Lucius talked to Mister Greengrass about business while Mrs Greengrass paid attention only to the food on her plate. Astoria's elbow brushed against Draco's as she cut into her salmon, and Draco wondered whether she was trying to get his attention.

Every time he turned to her she seemed to be ignorant of her movements, and after the fourth time frustration began to bubble dangerously in his chest.  _Is she indicating that I should leave?_ he wondered. He chanced a glance at his father, who was apparently listening to a story Mister Greengrass was telling about a particularly difficult investment deal he had closed several years ago.

As if he could sense Draco's gaze on him, Lucius turned to him and narrowed his eyes infinitesimally. It was all the indication Draco needed; he was not permitted to leave the table until instructed.

Draco declined dessert and waited impatiently, fidgeting with the hem of the tablecloth as the otherwise silent room was filled with the clinking sound of metal spoons against crystal dishware.

Finally, Lucius stood and indicated towards the exit with an elegant wave of his hand. "Shall we?" he said in his most oily businessman tone.

Draco followed his father and Mister and Mrs Greengrass, with Astoria trailing behind him. As they entered the hallway which led to Draco's study, Astoria slipped her small hand into his and gave it a squeeze. His annoyance from earlier dissipated at the contact; they were both unwilling participants in this farce of a game their parents insisted on playing. Draco squeezed back and continued to hold her hand as Lucius opened the door, allowing their guests to breeze past him and enter the room first.

Lucius smirked at Draco as he entered and Draco fought to keep his grip on Astoria. He longed to throw a punch and wipe the smirk off his father's face; he knew that Lucius had chosen to host the signing in this room just to rattle Draco further.

The desk had been cleared, save for an ink pot and the contract which lay in the middle; a copy of which was torn up and sitting in the waste paper basket to the left of the study door. He fought a smirk at that thought as Lucius opened his arms in a gracious movement and welcomed them to the formal signing of the betrothal contract.

"Of course, this is simply a ceremony; the legal side of things has already been taken care of." He bowed to Mister Greengrass, who offered him a brief smile of recognition. "Miss Greengrass," he called, looking towards Astoria with a would-be friendly smile. "If you'd like to do the first honours."

Astoria moved forward slowly, walking around the desk while running a perfectly manicured hand along the edge as she did so. When she halted next to Lucius, he moved out of the way and she picked up the large, eagle-feather quill from the ink pot. She glanced at Draco, an arch to her eyebrow, and Draco nodded once in a sign of solidarity. With that, Astoria placed the quill on the parchment and wrote her curly signature along the appropriate dotted line. When she was done, she gently returned the quill to its resting place and shuffled back to stand next to Draco. He heard her sniff once, and Draco glanced down; his heart clenched as he registered a tear on her cheek, but as soon as it had started Astoria seemed to pull herself together and she once again held her head high, her eyes dry.  _A perfectly raised Pureblood witch,_  Draco thought.

"Draco," Lucius' dangerous whisper pulled Draco from his reverie. "Your turn."

As Draco made his way stiffly to the other side of the table, Lucius picked up the quill and handed it to him. Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes.  _What does he think I'm going to do? Refuse to sign it? Maybe he hopes I'll cause a scene,_  he thought savagely as he took the quill.  _Perhaps he_ wants _a scene so he has a reason to punish me… like I'm twelve again._

Draco gnashed his teeth together and pinched the quill between his fingertips. He knew that he was in danger of snapping the implement, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He bent over the parchment and scrawled his signature along the parchment; it was barely legible, but it was there and it would do. Lucius would be annoyed at the way he had managed to land a blot of ink on the corner, but it wasn't enough to invite retribution.

Draco smirked as he handed the quill pointedly back to his father.  _If he wants to treat me like a child, I might as well act like one,_  he thought. Lucius glared at him as he returned the quill to the ink pot, but then he was once again smiling coldly and ordering Miksy to produce the finest bottle of elf wine the cellar had to offer.

* * *

Later, when the Greengrasses had left, Draco sat alone in his bedroom. He had drunk a glass of wine with the rest of them, but now he slouched in the armchair by the window, his tie undone and his shirt unbuttoned, nursing his fifth tumbler of Firewhiskey. The room was swimming, but his head felt clear enough.

He brought the cool crystal to his lips and drained the remaining amber liquid in one go. As he filled it again, the previous mouthful still burning its way down his throat, he began to reflect with a definite air of moroseness about how he had ended up in this mess.

He longed to talk to Blaise, missing his friend more than ever in a moment such as this. He wasn't used to dealing with the aftermath of Lucius without the Italian prick, he realised; while his fellow former Slytherin may have disappeared before the Battle of Hogwarts, he had really tried to be there for Draco since their reunion.

Draco placed the now empty bottle back on the side table and roughly ran his free hand over his face. What he had asked of Blaise had been unfair and selfish. He had meant to owl an apology, but was forever being sidetracked. Astoria was brought to the manor often, and Draco was forced to give her tours of the grounds, which they usually completed in silence.

When he wasn't playing tour guide and when he could escape the manor, he was either sitting with his mother or spending time with Hermione—or both at the same time. He felt in his bones that his mother would like the feisty Muggleborn witch, and so desperately wished she would wake up and fix everything that had developed a permanent ache in his chest.

Part of him felt that he would prefer Azkaban; in a lot of ways it seemed that he had more control over his life while behind bars than he did now, with his wand and the freedom to come and go as he pleased. Lucius had once again made his home a prison and there was nothing he could do about it.

He brought the glass to his lips as a ragged sob tore from his throat. He blinked away the tears and coughed determinedly. There was no use getting emotional; it wouldn't help. What he needed now was a miracle.

At that moment, the fireplace across from him burst into green flames which dissipated quickly to reveal the scantily-clad figure of Hermione.

"Granger?" he whispered, his jaw dropping open as he took in the black satin nightgown which barely skimmed the top of her thigh.

She didn't say anything, instead fixing him with a burning gaze and striding towards where he sat. Hermione straddled him in one fluid movement and Draco felt himself instantly harden as he wrapped one arm around her waist while the other placed his drink sloppily on the table. He growled as she kissed him, her tongue instantly entering his mouth.

It was hot and passionate, and exactly what he needed.  _She always knows,_  he thought as his hands fumbled with the hem of Hermione's nightgown and forced it over her head,  _exactly what I need..._


	28. Looking Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when it all seems lost, there may be hope after all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank yous to the wonderful ravenclaw-sass and littlered1992 for their brilliant beta-ing!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this update! xx

 

The days after Hermione's impromptu midnight visit to Draco's bedroom passed in a blur. The Malfoy-Greengrass wedding date had been set for the beginning of January, which gave them a little over six weeks to prepare. Draco was still adamant that he would find a way out of the mess his father had created and Hermione was humouring him. He was grateful for her optimism as it gave him the strength to retain his.

People came and went from the manor; witches and wizards dripping in expensive jewellery, some of them with entourages of over twenty personnel made up of both humans and elves. Draco's head spun as he tried to remember who was here for what, but then gave up; he wasn't personally invested in the wedding—what did he care if the napkins were off-white or beige?

He spent as much time as possible at Hermione's apartment. He sat on the end of the three-seater couch while Hermione sprawled out with her feet in his lap, reading through mind-numbing case files. Unfortunately, Lucius' contract was airtight and after a week they were no closer to finding a loophole.

When he was at the manor, he was usually sitting with Narcissa. He had taken to talking to her out loud for hours. He told her about Hermione, about his time in Azkaban, and about the wedding planning she was missing out on. He tried to keep things lighthearted, even when talking about the darker topics such as his time behind bars; he focused on the relief and gratitude he felt since getting out of the place, and the fact that his time in there hadn't negatively affected him too much.

Time seemed to be speeding up as each hour bled into the next. Draco's optimism was slowly being dissolved by the acidity of panic, though he worked hard to keep his true feelings from Hermione. His witch was slowly pulling away from him, he could feel it. She had stopped visiting the manor, and when they made love—a rare occurrence as they spent most of their time researching the unresearchable—desperation had replaced the lust which had once driven them to ecstacy not that long ago.

A few days before Christmas, Draco locked himself in his study and opened a bottle of Firewhiskey. It was barely nine o'clock in the morning, but he had spent the night tossing and turning between dreams of married life with Astoria. His hand shook as it lifted the bottle over a crystal tumbler, only settling once the amber liquid had poured to an inch-deep. As he capped the bottle with a flick of his wrist, the orange flames in the grate of his fireplace glowed suddenly green.

He turned sharply, his first instinct being to smile in greeting as his mind conjured the image of Hermione, but the hope of coming face to face with the brunette witch dimmed instantly as his gaze settled on his visitor.

"Pansy," he said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Hello to you too, Draco," Pansy said, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes, he noted, held less malice than usual, but it wasn't enough for him to let his guard down. "I've just seen Blaise."

"Is he back?" Draco blurted out, glancing quickly at the door and then back at the fireplace as if the Italian wizard was going to appear at any second.

"No." Pansy's lips, which were painted a frightening shade of pink, stretched into a wide smile. "I've been in Italy for the past few weeks; I figured I'd give you time to cool off after our… spat." She waved the word away as if the fact that she had tried to destroy his relationship before it properly started was of no consequence.

Draco ground his back teeth together. "What do you want?" he repeated.

Pansy simpered and draped herself elegantly across the nearest armchair. "Draco," she said in a pitying tone. "Blaise told me all about the contract and how your father is making you marry Daphne's little sister." Her simper melted into a full-on pout and Draco's fingers itched with the urge to wipe it from her face.

"And?"

"And—" Pansy arched an eyebrow at him "—I'm here to offer my help."

"Your  _help_?" Draco scoffed and raised his glass to his lips, taking a long pull of the burning liquid. "And what, pray tell, are you going to do to get me out of the blood-binding contract?"

"I'm going to offer you an out," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "The same solution I've presented to you over and over again, Draco; marry  _me_ instead."

Draco choked on his drink, droplets dribbling down his chin; he wiped at them savagely as he fixed the witch with a pointed stare. "And how would that fix my predicament? I'd still be married to someone I have no interest in being with, and—"

"First of all, ouch," Pansy said sarcastically. "And second, if you're married to me, you'll at least be with someone you know." She wrinkled her nose, indicating her distaste for Draco's current impending nuptials.

"I think I'd rather be with Astoria," Draco muttered, placing his glass down on the table beside him.

Pansy's eyes narrowed and she used her hands to push herself into a standing position. "Think about it," she urged. "We're friends; we've known each other for  _years._  I know what you like—" she pressed the tip of her forefinger lightly against his chest and ran it down towards the waistband of his trousers.

The lack of sleep and the very immediate effects of the Firewhiskey on his otherwise empty stomach made his reflexes slower than normal, but his hand closed around her wrist before she could reach her destination. Pansy sighed but did not make a move to free her arm from Draco's grasp; Draco continued to hold it in place, contemplating whether or not he should use this leverage to throw her back into the Floo.

"Pansy," he said instead, "I don't want to marry you. You're one of my oldest friends, that much is true. But I feel like you're expecting more from me than I can give." He kept his tone light and neutral, but Pansy's eyes were taking on a glassy sheen. "I appreciate the offer, but I must decline."

Pansy exhaled forcefully through her mouth and Draco braced himself for the screaming match which was sure to ensue. "I think you're making a mistake," she said quietly, folding her arms across her chest.

"Am I?" Draco blinked, slightly confused at the anticlimactic response; he had been so sure he was going to need to restrain his feisty friend.

"Yes." Pansy jutted her chin out as the first tear rolled down her cheek. "It's no secret that I love you Draco—more than a friend." She added the last statement unnecessarily; a blind man could see that Pansy had pined after Draco for most of their adolescence. "Astoria is only marrying you because she's being forced; I, on the other hand, would always put you and your needs first, and—"

"Pansy!" Draco said loudly, holding out a hand to stop her rambling. "No," he said, his voice softening as the witch snapped her mouth shut. Desperation still radiated from her eyes, but at least she was silent now. "I won't marry you; it's unfair knowing how you feel about me, when I…" he trailed off, releasing the air from his lungs in a harsh breath. Draco bit down on the inside of his cheek and ran a hand through his hair. "Pansy, I don't love you in the same way you love me, and I can't think of a crueller act than accepting your proposal, knowing full well that I will only break your heart."

"You wouldn't—"

"I would." He shook his head, his hands finding their way to her shoulders and gripping them tightly as he forced himself to look into her eyes.

Tears were making wide tracks down her cheeks, but her voice was steady as she spoke. "I know what I would be getting myself into, Draco," she said seriously. "I accept that I can't have you for real, but you're still my friend and I want what's best for you."

"What's best for me is something I can't have," he whispered.

Pansy offered him a sad, watery smile. "I know," she replied, and in that moment Draco understood how Pansy felt; love was desperate and messy and blissful agony all rolled into an imperfectly wrapped package made of paradoxical happiness... and it hurt like hell when it was being held just out of one's reach.

He tugged the now sobbing witch into his arms and held her against his chest, remaining silent as her tears seeped through the material of his button-down. They stood like that for minutes, which felt like they dragged forever, lost in their own thoughts, until Pansy's shoulders stopped shaking and she gave one last, shuddering breath. When she pulled away, her eyes were red rimmed but she swiped at them impatiently and then smiled up at him.

"You'll always be my friend, Pansy." Draco leant forwards and pressed a kiss to her forehead and she choked out a laugh.

"I don't think I can be your friend." Pansy's mouth was stretched tight in a would-be smile, but her eyes were leaking again and her lower lip trembled dangerously. "I have loved you for  _so_ long—" she choked and a wracking sob threatened to completely strip her of the ability to speak. Draco dropped his hands from where they were still resting against her arms and he frowned at her. "I-I can't be friends with you anymore," she whispered, shaking her head as she retreated backwards towards the fireplace. "I know that makes me an awful person but—" she squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to regain her composure "—I just c-can't."

Draco followed her movements and gathered the distraught woman in his arms again. He crushed her to him and whispered apologies in her ear, but Pansy's sobbing was too loud for them to be heard. It didn't matter though; Draco knew that this was goodbye, and as much as it hurt him to lose a friend, he knew that it wasn't fair on Pansy to keep her around just so he could rub his happiness—or lack thereof, once his marriage to Astoria was finalised—in her face. He would miss her, and he would always hold out hope that she would get over him and find someone who would love her back... but for now, it was time to let go.

"Goodbye, Pans," he said, bending slightly to kiss her on the cheek, his lips coming away wet and salty.

She offered him a half-hearted smile in return, her hand reaching up to cup his face. Before he could really lean in to the gesture, she turned on her heel and stalked towards the fireplace. She swiped at her eyes before taking a handful of Floo powder, disappearing amongst the green flames and leaving Draco alone once more.

When silence wrapped him in its cold arms again, Draco slumped against the armchair Pansy had occupied when she first arrived. He ran a hand over his face, exhaustion settling into his bones and mixing with the empty sense of despair. His whole life was crumbling around him before it really began; if ever there was a time for that miracle, now would be the time for it to appear.

* * *

Three days had passed since Pansy's visit, but the hollow feeling in Draco's chest had not dissipated. If anything, it had only grown larger as he had not seen Hermione in that time, either. Between wedding planning and caring for his mother, Draco had not had the opportunity to visit her, and while they owled at least twice a day, he was missing her terribly.

He woke early the day before Christmas, determined to sneak over to Hermione's apartment when the witch suddenly appeared in his bedroom. His jaw dropped as she stepped from the grate dressed in stretchy black leggings and an oversized knitted jumper with the letter 'H' on it.

"Hi." She smirked as she took in his appearance; he was still getting dressed and was in the process of selecting a shirt for the day.

"Hello," he replied, some of the shock easing as she made her way over to him.

Her lips were soft as they met his and Draco dropped the green Oxford he had been holding so his arms were free to wind around her waist. He pulled her against him, shivering slightly as her fingernails teased their way down his chest and over his abdomen. Draco longed to turn her around and throw her on the bed, but she pulled away before he could do so.

"I missed you," she breathed, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

Draco felt his heart constrict with guilt as he tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "Me too," he said. "I was just coming to visit you, actually."

"Oh?" She pulled away from him completely and went to perch on the end of his bed.

"Yes." He nodded and then summoned his shirt wandlessly. Dressing himself slowly, he smirked at the way her lower lip jutted out in an obvious pout as his bare chest was covered with the emerald-coloured material.

"What for?"

"Because I wanted to see you." He tucked his shirt into his trousers and threaded a belt around his hips, buckling it deftly at the front.

"How are you feeling about the Pansy thing?" Hermione asked, ducking her head as the question slipped from her lips.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Fine, I suppose," he said. "It was a long time coming, I think. Pansy and I have been friends for a long time and sometimes it's hard to recognise when a relationship has run its course." He paused, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. "We haven't been  _friends_ —" he wrapped the word in air quotes "—since our Hogwarts days; I clung to her because she was familiar and I thought I could keep her as a friend the same way I had during first and second year. Pansy allowed it because she was harbouring romantic feelings for me, and I finally realised that the whole situation was entirely unfair on both of us."

"I understand," Hermione said quietly, her gaze once again meeting his. Draco sighed in relief. "It's the same with Ronald and I; we're not able to go back to being friends because the last time we were actually  _friendly_ towards each other was when we were children—over half a lifetime ago." She smiled sadly and reached for his hand.

Draco took it and squeezed. "So what brings you here?" he asked, pulling her to her feet. "I can't imagine you came over to discuss Pansy, or Weasley." He pulled a face and Hermione laughed.

"No," she said. "I just wanted to see you…" she trailed off and exhaled a sigh through her nose. "I still haven't found anything," she murmured. "And I'm starting to think that—"

"Don't." Draco placed a finger over her lips, effectively silencing her. "Please; it's Christmas time and I'd much rather focus on that before we have to face the reality of the new year."

Hermione looked as though she wanted to argue, but Draco ducked his head, slanting his lips over hers. For a moment, he thought that she would push him away. Her mouth remained hard and unmoving beneath his, but then he stepped into her and placed his hands on her hips. She came to life beneath him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down towards her.

It was once again desperate, an unspoken understanding of  _what if this is the last time_ , surrounding them and permeating their souls as they came together. He pushed her down on to his bed and crawled on top of her; usually, he would look into her eyes as he did so, offering a smirk or a look of smoking intensity, but this time he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. Emotions still unlabeled and unknown swirled in his chest as he kissed his way down her neck, to the curve of her collarbone.

His fingers had just curled around the neck of her jumper, intent on pulling it down so he could sample the taste of her skin across her décolletage, when they were interrupted by a loud cracking sound.

"Miksy is so sorry, Master Draco!" the small elf squeaked.

Draco jerked away from Hermione, whose hands had flown to her lips. His head snapped up to look at the small creature who was now trembling at the foot of the bed, the elf's long fingers clenched tightly across her eyes.

He swallowed thickly and then cleared his throat, moving so that he was standing beside the bed. "It's okay, Miksy," he said robotically. "What do you need?"

"Master Lucius is wanting to see you in the ballroom, Mister Draco, sir!" Miksy answered, her eyes still covered. "He is saying you must decide on the floral arrangements for the party, sir."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut against the instant headache that began to pound in his temples at Miksy's words. "Tell Lucius I will be there in five minutes."

"Yes, sir!" Miksy bowed low, her sight still blocked by her hands, and then Apparated away.

Draco exhaled slowly as he turned back to address Hermione. His witch was sitting on the edge of the bed once more, her cheeks decidedly flushed and her eyes fixed on him. His heart clenched as he approached her and took her hands in his.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "If I don't go, Lucius will—"

"I know," she said quickly, offering him a sad smile. Her eyelashes fluttered towards her cheek as she rose on tiptoes to kiss him; Draco ducked his head immediately and crushed her to him as he took what she offered. "Happy Christmas," she whispered against his lips as they pulled apart—far too soon for Draco's liking.

He did not return the sentiment as his throat closed over, obstructed by all of the emotions which chose that moment to make themselves known. Instead, he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, breathing in the calming scent of her lavender shampoo, and then pulled away. He nodded once, then strode from the room without looking back; he was terrified that if he did, he may do something as stupid as beg her to run away with him.

* * *

Dawn broke over the manor on Christmas Day, the grounds covered in a thick blanket of snow, the sky clear and blue. It was the sort of Christmas that Draco remembered loving as a small child; he would run from his bedroom at the first sign of daylight, not stopping until he reached their third floor living room which housed the tree and all of the presents.

Despite his horrid attitude as a child, he had never opened his gifts before his parents rose. His mother would force his father out of bed before he had waited too long, and they would enter in their monogrammed robes. The elves would then appear with coffee and tea; his father would snatch at the rich-smelling mugs of coffee and then settle himself in one of the wingback chairs with the same air as a king might take to his throne. His mother would kneel beside the tree, inviting Draco to sit beside her while she handed him presents and watched him open them, delight in her eyes.

It was the one day of the year he could trust that his father would leave him alone, for the most part. He had never much enjoyed the stuffy party they held in the ballroom on Christmas evening, but he could pretend, using the happiness of the morning to get him through the night.

Today, however, held none of the joy of his youth, and only dread for the evening curled uncomfortably in his chest and stomach. It was like a serpent, thrashing and hissing between his organs, making him both restless and nauseous.

Miksy appeared soon after he woke with a tray of tea. Draco took it from the elf silently and ordered that she go and check on his mother while he drank it and then got dressed. Miksy bowed low and then obediently left the room.

As Draco was pulling a jumper over his head, his Floo roared to life and he almost choked on a sob as relief flooded through him.

"Hermione?"

"I'm sorry." The witch shrugged her shoulders as she stepped towards him, a playful smile curling at her lips. "I just couldn't bear the thought of not seeing you on Christmas Day."

Her eyes were decidedly red, Draco decided as she came to a stop just in front of him. He ran a thumb over her cheek softly before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I'm glad you couldn't," he whispered, lips curving up into a smirk. "I was just about to go and see Mother, but—"

"I'll come with you," Hermione said, slipping her hand into his.

Draco beamed at her, squeezing her fingers gently with his own. "Let's go."

They made their way silently down the hall and took their places either side of his mother's bed. There had been no change in the past few weeks, and despite the fact that Draco had been talking to her every day, she had not had another moment of lucidity. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest as he took one of her hands in his and then lifted his gaze to meet Hermione's; she was looking back at him encouragingly.

"How has she been?" she asked.

"Fine," Draco said as he began to draw circles with the pad of his thumb against his mother's cool skin. "She hasn't woken again, though."

Hermione bit down on her lower lip. "And the Healers have nothing else to offer in the way of an explanation?"

"No." He shook his head. "They're still keeping a close eye on her brain activity, but there's nothing abnormal to report."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Hermione spoke again. "How are the preparations coming for tonight?" Her voice was controlled and her tone light, but Draco noticed the way her eyes narrowed as she asked the question.

He sighed. "I guess I should be thankful that Lucius has decided to merge our annual Christmas party with my engagement party, but I am absolutely dreading it, if I'm being honest."

Hermione giggled and he shot her a playful grin. For a moment, it was as if they were just a normal couple, having a normal conversation about something that they found annoying yet hilarious as if it were a private joke, but then the flimsy illusion shattered and the mirth faded from their features.

The room sat starkly around them, the whole scene a reminder of what they were up against, with no way of actually winning. The forces that wanted to keep them apart were succeeding and Draco had never felt so hopeless in his entire life.

He dropped his gaze to his mother's face as he spoke. "I don't want to go to the party any more than I want to marry Astoria," he said quietly.

"I know it's not what you want, Draco," Hermione's voice floated across the bed towards him.

He ran his free hand through his hair roughly. "I have been ignoring the reality that in a few weeks I will be married to someone I have no feelings for, and I don't know how we're going to…" He trailed off, gesturing weakly between them.

A sharp intake of breath from the opposite side of the bed brought his attention back to the brunette witch. She was not crying, but her chest was rising and falling in quicker successions than normal. Draco hated himself for doing this to her; he felt personally responsible for the entire mess and he wondered that if he had been honest about his doubts earlier on, Hermione would have been able to move on from him before they both became too attached.

"I'm sorry that I—" he began.

"Don't," Hermione bit out, her tone lethal. "I'm not an idiot; I knew that the chances of being able to find a solution to this mess were non-existent before I agreed to help you."

Draco bit down hard on his lower lip as he stared at the vision across from him. She was beautiful. He thought that in any circumstance, but when she was defending him—to himself, no less—she was absolutely breathtaking. Unable to help himself, he rose from his seat and made his way around to her in long, quick strides.

He dropped to his knees and took her face in his hands as she turned towards him. "I don't deserve you," he said, leaning his forehead against hers. She chuckled, a soft, wet sound as the first tear rolled down her cheek, He swiped it away with his thumb. "I mean it; I know that the possibility of me getting out of this marriage before it happens isn't high, but I promise that I will never stop fighting for you."

His own eyes were burning now and the vision of Hermione's wide smile swam before him as he pressed his lips roughly to hers. A foreign feeling swirled within him, taking over all of his other senses as he kissed her; he was unable to label it in such a state, instead focusing on the way his witch moved against him.

He pulled back, using his thumb and forefinger to tilt her chin up. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes leaking, but he didn't care; she was  _his_  and it would take more than a contract and another witch to change that.

"I know that this wedding is more than likely to go ahead," Hermione said, her lower lip trembling as she gripped his shoulders. She opened her mouth to continue, and Draco's eyebrows knitted together as he listened intently, but then from beside them came another voice—

"Over my dead body it will."

Draco whipped around to face the bed, where he was met with the heavily-lidded gaze of his mother.

"Fucking hell!" he rasped.

"Draco Lucius M-Malfoy—" His mother coughed, a soft, dry sound, effectively cutting off what was to be a severe reprimand. As her ability to speak left her, she turned her face more fully toward him and glared.

He had never been so excited to be chastised by his mother. "Granger," he said without tearing his eyes away from the figure in the bed. "Please send an owl to the Healers; they must come immediately."


	29. At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to ravenclaw-sass and littlered1992 :)
> 
> We're getting so close to the end guys! I'm excited and nervous to mark this complete! *squee*

 

The Healers appeared in the fireplace within minutes of Hermione sending a Patronus. Draco was momentarily shocked at the appearance of a pearly white otter, but soon recovered as he realised what its purpose was. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with keeping his mother alert, he would have kissed Hermione for her quick-thinking and constant support.

The women were wearing pyjamas and dressing gowns in place of their robes; it was Christmas Day, after all, and it was still very early in the morning. They hovered over his mother, asking her questions which she was able to respond to. Her voice was very weak and she was often taken by long bouts of coughing fits which prevented her from saying much of anything, and Draco was reminded of his own hoarseness after his release.

His heart soared in his chest as the minutes wore into hours and his mother was still awake. As the sun rose in the sky and shone through the window, the Healers turned to Draco and asked to speak with him privately.

"Well," the older one of the pair said, "it appears our fears have been assuaged; your mother is still very weak and it will take time for her to regain her physical strength; however, it appears that she has full use of her mental capacities." She turned to look over her shoulder, where the sound of whisper-quiet laughter was coming from the bed.

Hermione was perched in a chair which she had pulled against the mattress, and she was helping his mother into a sitting position. Draco's chest threatened to burst as he felt a warm light radiate out from his heart and seep into his bones.

"Thank you," he said with a wide smile. He shook both of their hands and then wished them a happy Christmas before returning to the bed.

"Draco," his mother said, one of her arms reaching for him. He crawled onto the mattress and settled himself beside her, leaning against the headboard.

Her skin was warm for the first time since she had returned from Azkaban, and Draco allowed his mother to pull him into her his side, unashamed of what sort of picture this would paint to Hermione.

His witch stood as his mother dropped a weak kiss on to his cheek, her arm hanging limp across his shoulders. Hermione cleared her throat, a warm smile on her face as she gazed down at them. "Well, I think I'll leave you to it—" she began, but his mother cut her off.

"Nonsense!" His mother waved a hand in a way that he was certain would exhaust her. "I insist, Miss Granger; please sit down."

Hermione returned to her seat, her smile still on her face, though her eyes searched Draco's momentarily as if seeking permission. He nodded once to her.

"Now," his mother whispered, taking her arm back from Draco's shoulders and glancing up at him. "What's this I overheard about a wedding?"

"Mother, no." Draco shook his head. "Not yet; you need to focus on resting."

"And how am I to achieve that, Draco?" she replied, her tone surprisingly sharp. "I overheard something about a wedding that concerns you and a witch you have no romantic feelings for. If I'm to sit idly by while this happens, I should think I'll fall into another coma!"

"Alright!" Draco rolled his eyes and moved so that he was sitting at the end of the bed, facing his mother and Hermione.  _Glad to see Azkaban hasn't squashed Mother's flame,_  he thought wryly. "It's true," he said. "Lucius has betrothed me to Astoria Greengrass."

His mother frowned. "Greengrass?" she echoed. "Interesting. And what clauses has your father placed in the contract?"

"There's no death clause, Mother," he answered quietly.

His mother's shoulders sagged in relief and she took a moment to readjust herself against the pillows, with the help of Hermione.

"Well," she said finally, "that's good news."

Draco hummed in agreement, but his mother's comment did nothing to quell the familiar feeling of dread which swirled in his stomach. "We've tried to find a way out of the contract." He gestured between himself and Hermione. "So far, we haven't found anything, and if I'm being honest—" his gaze dropped to his lap "—I don't think there  _is_  a way out."

His mother scoffed. "Of course there is, Draco." He lifted his head slowly; his mother had just woken up...he didn't want to argue with her or explain the complexity of the contract which would undoubtedly prove her wrong.

He smiled weakly at her. "Well," he said, "if anyone could find a way out, it's Hermione here." He nodded towards his witch, who offered him a small smile of gratitude. "And so far...nothing." He shrugged.

"I believe that," his mother agreed. "However, I have a few more tricks at my disposal, and years of dealing with Lucius as a husband. I won't allow the marriage to proceed, son."

Draco exhaled slowly through his lips. He daren't allow the beginnings of hope to settle in his heart as he took in the determined look on his mother's face. But damn it all if what she was saying wasn't the lifeboat he longed to jump on to.

"I'll need to speak to a lawyer," his mother said, breaking him out of his trance. "I'm not sure if Herbert Holt will agree to help us, but—"

"He won't," Hermione interjected. The brunette witch glanced between Draco and his mother and seemed to realise that her comment may be construed as rude. "I mean," she continued quickly, a delicious blush crawling up her cheeks, "I know him personally, and he refused to help when I asked him to get you out of Azkaban." She licked her lips and tucked a hair behind her ear. "But I can pull a few strings at work; it pays to be the Head of Department." She smirked as she met Draco's eyes and he could not remember ever feeling so proud of another human being in all of his life.

A broad grin stretched his features as he turned back to his mother. "What do you say, Mother?" he asked.

"How soon can you pull these strings, Miss Granger?"

"This afternoon," Hermione affirmed. "It may be Christmas, but a few owls to the right people will have them here by tomorrow at the latest."

"Tomorrow is perfect."

"I'll return home and get straight on to it then."

Hermione stood and locked eyes with Draco. She jerked as if she meant to walk towards him and then stopped herself. Was she concerned about saying goodbye to him properly? He smirked as he rose to stand as well, reaching out as she moved to walk past him and wrapped his arms around her waist. She stumbled against his chest and he ran his thumb in a soothing circle on her lower back as he kissed her possessively.

"Thank you," he murmured against her lips.

"You're welcome," she breathed back.

And then she was gone.

"So…" His mother's voice brought him back to the present, his grin only widening as he took in the arch of her pale blonde eyebrow. "You and Miss Granger are—"

"Dating, yes," Draco said happily, making his way to the chair Hermione had just vacated.

"And you're serious about her?"

"Very serious."

His mother was silent for a long time. Draco feared that maybe she had fallen asleep with her eyes open, but then she said, "I like her."

Draco laughed, relief crashing over him and turning his bones to liquid.

* * *

It was decided that Draco would attend the ball to be held in his honour despite the fact that Hermione had owled to confirm that the lawyer would be visiting tomorrow morning. His mother had told him that it was important to keep up appearances so that his father would not suspect anything. After so many weeks of being crushed by his father's iron fist, Draco was only too happy to participate in a plan that would pull the wool over Lucius' eyes.

The party was an extravagant affair. Draco had to hand it to his father; he knew how to celebrate. Lucius was missing from the party, but Draco only noticed this when Astoria, dressed in a ridiculously large gown made of burgundy silk, pointed it out. He brushed it off, stating that his father often disappeared early to drink alone in his study. The lie passed his lips easily, but he spent the rest of the party looking for the tell-tale platinum pony-tail, itching to send an owl to Hermione to tell her of this development.

As things turned out, he didn't have the chance because as the House Elves ushered the last of the party goers from the manor when the sun was rising over the southern forest. Draco's eyes itched with exhaustion as he dragged himself up the stairs, thinking only of taking off his shoes and collapsing into his bed.

As he closed the door to his bedroom behind him, he sighed gratefully and lifted his gaze to his bed, only to find that there was someone already sitting on it.

"Good morning." Hermione arched an eyebrow, a soft smirk playing around the corners of her mouth.

He groaned, half in relief and half in frustration. "Please tell me we have time for a short nap before the lawyer arrives."

Hermione chuckled and held out her hand, which he took. She tugged him towards her, her fingers sliding up his arms to his neck, where she deftly undid his tie and threw it on the ground. "Yes," she whispered, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

In any other moment, Draco would have reacted immediately and taken her against the mattress, but exhaustion had set in and it was all he could do to remain upright as she pushed the garment down his arms.

She then set to work on his belt and rid him of his pants, so that he stood before her in his boxer shorts. She shuffled slightly so that she was laying on the far side of the bed and patted the mattress beside her. Draco mumbled his thanks and fell in to the silky sheets, magically warmed thanks to his amazing witch.

He mumbled something as he fell asleep, his mind far too laden with alcohol and weariness to register what he had said. He vaguely noted Hermione's sharp intake of breath before he fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Hermione tried to sleep while Draco slumbered beside her, but the garbled admission he had made just before he drifted off rattled around inside her head like a particularly loud housefly.

_I love you_.

It had been barely there. The lightest of declarations; the heaviest of statements. Hermione wasn't even sure how she felt about the blond wizard. She knew she cared for him, obviously, but did she love him? And if she did, was she ready to tell him as much?

Luckily, she did not have to lay frozen in her thoughts for too long, as nine 'o'clock arrived quickly.

"Five more minutes." Draco groaned as he opened one eye blearily.

"Come on, Sleeping Beauty." Hermione planted a smacking kiss on his cheek and then scrambled from the bed. "The lawyer will be here any minute now and we need to make sure your father isn't the one who greets him."

That seemed to wake Draco up far more than a cold shower would have, and he was up and dressed in a matter of seconds.

The lawyer was a middle-aged man dressed in a tweed suit. He stood in front of the small mirror hanging on the wall of the sitting room, his fingers wrapped around a tendril of hair in the middle of his forehead. He tugged at the black lock, attempting to get it to stay where he wanted until he caught sight of Hermione and Draco in the reflection.

"Hello," he greeted them, his smile wide as if he hadn't just been caught preening himself in the mirror. "Cliff Douglas." He took Draco's hand first and shook it before turning to Hermione. "Miss Granger, lovely to see you again."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, and over Christmas."

"Not at all," he said, flashing a toothy smile. "Where would you like to chat?" He glanced around the airy sitting room, both hands now gripping the handle of his briefcase.

"We will need to adjourn to my mother's room." Draco pointed towards the hallway and let his arm stay there as he continued. "She's still not able to get out of bed, and she's the one who wishes to speak with you."

"Lead the way."

They made their way in silence through the manor and towards Narcissa's room. Hermione's heart sat in her throat the whole time; Lucius had an uncanny knack for turning up precisely when you didn't want him to, and she was convinced that he would be standing around every corner.

As they arrived at the door to Narcissa's suite, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. They had met no human nor creature in the few minutes it took them to get to their destination. Primarily, Hermione felt grateful, but there was a small voice in the back of her head that was questioning  _why_  the manor was so quiet after the hustle and bustle of the past few weeks.

"Good morning," Narcissa greeted them. She was propped up against the headboard, a nest of pillows supporting her small frame. Her cheeks were tinted pink, and Hermione noted that it was the most colour she had seen on Draco's mother since she had been released from Azkaban. Her blue eyes assessed each of them as they entered the room, shrewd and piercing.

"Mrs Malfoy." Mister Douglas bowed low.

After introductions, Hermione waved her wand and set up two chairs on the right side of the bed, next to Narcissa. She turned to Draco. "I'll leave you to it," she murmured, and took two steps back towards the doorway.

"Miss Granger!" Narcissa called. "Please, stay." She gestured towards the chairs Draco and Mister Douglas were settling into.

"Are you sure?" Hermione hesitated, one hand still reaching for the door handle.

Narcissa arched an eyebrow, every part the aristocratic matriarch. She nodded once and Hermione smiled in response; her heart leapt in her chest at the thought that Draco's mother wanted her to witness such a private moment.

"What can I help you with?" Mister Douglas asked as Hermione conjured another chair and settled herself on the other side of Draco.

She watched as the lawyer busied himself with opening his briefcase, pulling out several sheets of parchment. The man had the outward appearance of being every bit the smarmy, money-hungry bastard just like most of the private lawyers in the Wizarding world, but Hermione knew better. He was a Muggleborn, graduated from Hogwarts twenty-five years before they had arrived, and often took cases without payment for those with less than fortunate backgrounds.

He was well known for beating the more affluent families in petty disputes, which had ruffled quite a few feathers, but his integrity and no-nonsense attitude had kept him afloat; he was a powerful ally.

"I wish to divorce my husband," Narcissa whispered, and Hermione was jolted back into the present.  _Did I hear that right?_

"I see." Douglas shuffled some pages and put a stack back in his briefcase, which he then placed on the floor. "I am sorry I have to ask you this, Mrs Malfoy, but on what grounds will you be filing for divorce?"

"I'm scared for my life." Narcissa's voice was barely there and Hermione leant forward, her elbows on her knees, in order to hear better.

"Mother—" Draco took her hand, but Narcissa pulled it from his grasp and waved him away.

"It's been five years coming, Draco," she said. "Probably longer, if I'm being completely honest." She turned back to Douglas. "I don't feel safe with him in the house; he should not have been let out of Azkaban."

Hermione ducked her head as guilt filled her chest. She knew that it was her fault that Lucius had been allowed to walk free. She had deluded herself into thinking that she would have time to work out a plan which would see him stay behind bars, but then the stress of procuring the vial after Ron and Harry took it… She bit down on her lower lip; in her heart, she knew she had done the best she could given the circumstances, but it still ached to know that in trying to save Draco and Narcissa, she had inadvertently created more issues for them.

"Do you think he is a threat to your physical safety?" Douglas asked, glancing up briefly from his quill and parchment.

"Yes," Narcissa said. "Among other things. He has created a document which legally binds Draco to a marriage he does not want; I believe Lucius is up to something. He never does anything unless it furthers his own gains."

"And would you be willing to recite the reasons you believe that he would be a danger to you and Draco—and anyone else—" he nodded to his left, indicating Hermione "—in front of the Wizengamot?"

"Why would that be necessary?" Hermione interjected, looking at Douglas. "A full Wizengamot trial is a little excessive, don't you—?"

"With all due respect," Douglas said, his gaze shifting from Hermione to Narcissa, "we're talking about one of the most prominent cases of Death Eaters since the Lestrange case. You know as well as I do that the Wizengamot would insist on a full trial should they hear that Mrs Malfoy wishes to banish her husband back to Azkaban."

"I don't think so," Hermione argued, panic mixing with determination in her chest.

"It's fine, Miss Granger," Narcissa said. She shot her a look before turning to face Douglas. "I am willing to face the Wizengamot if necessary."

Hermione exhaled forcefully through her nostrils. She was grateful when Draco took her hand and gave it a squeeze, but the decision to ensure Narcissa  _didn't_  have to face a full trial just to get a divorce sat firm in her gut.

"Excellent." Douglas paused to scribble on the parchment again. "Now, tell me about this contract between Draco and…?" He turned to face the blond wizard, his dark eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Astoria Greengrass," Draco supplied.

More scribbling. Draco's thumb began to trace soft circles on the top of her hand and Hermione realised that at the witch's name, she had tensed, squeezing Draco's fingers until her knuckles turned white.

"Neither one of us want the marriage," Draco explained as Douglas continued to make notes. "Through the limited interactions I have had with her, Astoria has told me that though she begged, her parents would not agree to breaking the deal they have made with Lucius. The contract does state that should either of us find another person whom our parents deem fit, the contract could be nullified. However, it seems that my father has bribed the Greengrasses in some way—not that it has been easy for Astoria to find someone she wants to marry, given the circumstances…" Draco mumbled the last sentence before trailing off, shrugging his shoulders.

For the first time, Hermione actually felt sorry for Astoria. She couldn't imagine her parents forcing her to marry a man she barely knew, refusing to even consider her wishes.

"Do you have a copy of the contract?"

"Yes." Draco stood, his hand slipping from Hermione's.

"Sit," she told him. "I'll go and get it. You keep talking." She nodded towards Douglas and Draco offered her a grateful smile.

He took his seat again. "It's in my study; you'll find it in the waste paper basket by the door. I—" he coughed delicately "—may have torn it up."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile that spread across her face before she slipped silently from the room. She gripped her wand in her hand as she tiptoed down the hallway; Lucius may not have made an appearance when Douglas arrived, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try to corner her if she was alone.

She made it to Draco's study without incident, and breathed a sigh of relief as the contract put itself back together with a simple  _Reparo_. Hermione folded it neatly and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans before once again gripping her wand and making her way into the hallway.

When she had almost made it back to Narcissa's room, she was stopped by an odd noise coming from around the corner, where the staircase to the main foyer lay. Hermione, never one to ignore someone in distress, held her wand out in front of her and crept to origin of the sound.

On the stairs sat Miksy, her hands holding the ends of her large ears in a way that stretched the skin taut from her head. Hermione winced; it looked rather painful. She approached quietly and continued to watch the elf as she wailed openly, crouched on the stairs like a beggar in a dirty alleyway. Her hands dropped from her ears suddenly, gripping the front of her monogrammed pillowcase, ripping it away from her body as if she was desperate to be rid of the garment.

Her sobs quickly turned into grunts of frustration, and Hermione decided it was time to interrupt the distraught creature lest Miksy hurt herself.

She cleared her throat, but Miksy didn't appear to hear her.

"Miksy?" she tried, keeping her voice low so as not to startle the elf.

Miksy rounded on her, her eyes wide and red-rimmed, her nose leaking freely on to the front of the pillowcase which she still gripped roughly in her fists.

"Miss—Miss Hermione!" Miksy squeaked, instantly releasing her front and standing so that she could fall into a wobbly bow. "What is you needing, Miss?" The elf swiped at her eyes and blinked rapidly, forcing her mouth into a watery smile.

"Are you okay, Miksy?"

Miksy nodded, her false smile holding for all of two seconds...then her lower lip wobbled and she threw her head back, emitting a high pitched wail as she collapsed onto the step again.

"Shh!" Hermione hushed, trying to sound both comforting and stern at the same time; this was exactly the sort of thing that would draw Lucius out from his lair. "Tell me what's wrong," she whispered quickly as she crouched beside the elf. "Maybe I can fix it?"

Miksy only wailed louder, burying her face on the tops of her knees as she sobbed openly.

"Okay," Hermione said, desperation fluttering in her chest like an angry moth. "Did you drop a centrepiece? Order the wrong flowers? Is there an issue with the cake?" Hermione listed off possible wedding-related problems, but Miksy shook her head savagely at each suggestion.

"Oh, M-Miss H-Hermione!" Miksy stuttered and then blew her nose loudly on the corner of her tea towel. "I is being bad, I is! M-Master Lucius s-said—" but what Master Lucius had said Hermione did not find out, because Miksy suddenly stood and ran towards the bannister, her head connecting with the unforgiving wooden pillars with a sickening  _crunch!_

"Miksy!" Hermione ran to catch the elf before she stumbled down the stairs. A lump was already forming on the elf's forehead, and her eyes were rolling dangerously into the back of her head. Hermione held the elf in her arms as she dashed back up the stairs and sprinted down the corridor to Narcissa's room.

She didn't bother knocking as she approached, simply muttering the spell to open it and crossing the threshold without slowing her pace. "We have a problem," she panted, indicating the unconscious elf in her arms by nodding down at the sleeping form of Miksy.

Draco stood abruptly as Narcissa gasped. "What happened?" he demanded, coming to stand in front of Hermione.

"I-I found her on the stairs," Hermione explained, shifting the weight of the elf to Draco when he opened his arms. "She was crying, and she said something about your father, and then she ran at the bannister and—" Hermione realised then that she was hyperventilating and sank to the floor, her head between her knees.

"Douglas!" Draco rounded on the lawyer, who had remained seated throughout the exchange, his eyes moving from Hermione to Draco, his jaw slack. "I need you to stay here with my mother. I'll take Miksy to the kitchens and see what I can find out. Hermione, can you stand?" He bent over her slightly, unable to offer her his hand as he was carrying Miksy.

Hermione nodded, willing herself to stay upright as she forced her legs into a standing position. She was shakey, but a few deep breaths and the sound of Draco's voice allowed her to make it into the corridor.

"Where did you find her?" Draco asked when the door to Narcissa's door had shut behind them.

"On the main staircase," Hermione answered, jogging to keep up with Draco's long strides.

"And she didn't say anything?"

"She said she had been bad, and she mentioned your father…" Hermione chanced a glance over her shoulder, fully expecting to see Lucius exiting a room behind them.

Draco grunted and sped up; it was all Hermione could do to keep up with him.

Once in the kitchens, Draco allowed the elves to crowd around Miksy. He took Hermione's elbow and pulled her into the corner, where they watched the creatures work.

"Where are the rest of them?" Hermione whispered to Draco. "The manor is suspiciously quiet today."

Draco shrugged, glancing around before settling his gaze back on the group of House Elves in the middle of the room. "I'm not sure; perhaps they were given today off since it's Boxing Day."

"Seems odd for your father to suddenly develop concern for his slaves." Hermione shook her head.

Draco muttered his assent, but Hermione knew that he had no more of an explanation than she did.

After a few minutes, the elves stepped back and Miksy's voice could be heard cutting through the otherwise silent room. "I'm sorry," she was saying. "Miksy is so sorry—such a  _bad elf!_ "

Suddenly, Miksy was on her feet and her eyes were darting around the room as if looking for something. Hermione caught on just before the elf readied herself to launch at the oven which was in the process of cooking lunch.

"No!" Hermione cried.

"Miksy!" Draco shouted, catching Hermione's wrist as she made to run at the elf. "I order you to stop!"

Miksy froze. Her terrified expression turned slowly towards Draco; fat tears pooled in her eyes and began to fall down her cheeks.

"M-Master D-Draco—sir, Miksy—"

"You will not harm yourself," he said in an authoritative tone, stepping towards the kitchen island and pulling out a stool. "Sit here." He indicated the chair and then sat on the one next to it.

Miksy did as she was told, scrambling to the top of the stool and settling herself there. She was shaking like a leaf, her lower lip trembling with such force Hermione thought she might be in danger of biting it.

"Start from the beginning, please," Draco said.

"I c-can't tell you," Miksy whispered, her hands bunching into the front of her pillow case. "M-Master t-told me not t-to sp-speak!"

"Where is Master Lucius?" Draco asked, his eyes narrowing.

Miksy released a loud groan, her hands clenching and unclenching in the material. She shook her head violently. "No-no-no!" she moaned. "P-please don't ask me, Mister Draco, s-sir!"

Draco released a heavy sigh and ordered the rest of the elves to look after Miksy. "And you are not to harm yourself, Miksy, that is a direct order."

Miksy sobbed, her shoulders sagging in relief as the other elves shuffled around her, offering tea and helping her down from the stool.

"Draco, what—?" Hermione began, but Draco gripped her elbow and pulled her towards the exit.

When they had travelled out of earshot, he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "He's gone."

Hermione's blood ran cold. "Gone?" She shook her head. "What do you mean  _gone_? He's under house arrest, he can't just—"

"Gone, Granger; gone as in  _not here_. I don't know how he managed it, but I'm sure—" he cut himself off as they reached the door to an unfamiliar room which Hermione had not visited before.

Draco placed his right hand gingerly on the wood and splayed his fingers across it, as if testing whether or not he would be attacked. When nothing had happened after a few seconds, Draco raised his hand and knocked smartly three times.

Hermione held her breath as she stared at the doorknob, waiting for it to twist, indicating that someone was in fact on the other side of the door...but nothing happened; there was no answer.

Draco sighed and then pulled his wand from the inside of his jacket. He held the tip to the metallic door handle, muttering a string of spells under his breath that Hermione had not heard before.

With a satisfying  _click_ , the door swung inwards to reveal the immaculate study of Lucius Malfoy. The desk was made of mahogany, intricately carved with detailed filigree along the edges. The fireplace was glowing with orange heat, casting a warm glow across the space. An armchair sat to Hermione's immediate right, made of shiny black leather, and the walls were covered in shelves with rows of books all bound in the same emerald green.

Had she been in here under alternative circumstances, Hermione would have longed to spend hours exploring. As it was, Draco swore colourfully as he reached the centre of the room, placing his left hand onto the surface of the desk and using his right to wipe his brow.

"He's gone," he said, his gaze burning into Hermione's.

"Well, you can't be sure," she reasoned, though the conviction with which he spoke told her that he was right. "He might just be—"

"Hermione!" Draco squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth. Hermione snapped her mouth closed. He sighed, the harsh sound filling the room. Draco brandished his wand and for one wild second, Hermione thought that he might hex  _her_. " _Homenum Revelio!_ " he spat.

His eyes remained closed as the spell washed over him and Hermione waited with baited breath.

"How many—?"

"Four," Draco whispered, his eyes opening slowly and then widening in fear. "You, me, Mother, and Douglas…"

Hermione felt her blood run hot and cold at the same time, her cheeks instantly flushing as her teeth began to chatter. Her stomach rolled and she swallowed thickly against the bile which rose in her throat. "Which means—"

"Lucius has escaped."


	30. Just Desserts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my betas ravenclaw-sass and littlered1992!
> 
> We're winding up now guys and I can't wait to hear what you think of this chapter! xx

Icy tendrils pierced Hermione's skin and curled around her heart, squeezing so hard she could barely breathe. She turned to Draco who was shaking, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open as if he was thinking the same thing as she was.  _No… it's not possible._

Seeing his grey eyes swirling with uncertainty, panic, and unbridled anger, Hermione seemed to snap out of her own trance. "Where would he have gone?" she asked, knowing as soon as the question had left her mouth that it was a stupid one to ask.

Draco barked a harsh laugh. "I don't know. He's under house arrest; the Ministry was watching his every move. The Floo is monitored and the wards have been adjusted so that only I can leave…" he trailed off, beginning to look around the study as if there would be a clue. There was nothing.

The room was pristine but still held signs of life as if Lucius had just popped down to dinner and would be back later. A crystal tumbler sat to the right of the parchment on the desk with a half-empty bottle standing next to it. Had Lucius left in a hurry?

Hermione's mind raced. She knew she had to do  _something_ , but what? Lucius was dangerous enough when he was inside the manor; she could only imagine the horror of having him wandering the streets of England as a free man. Her thoughts snowballed one after the other until her vision swam. Lucius, meeting with a faceless stranger to procure a wand; Lucius, taking a Portkey to an unknown location; Lucius, grinning as he raises his wand and—

"Hermione?" Draco clicked a few times in front of her face and Hermione shook herself.

"What?" She blinked, her teeth worrying her lip as the images faded.

"I said I need to go and tell Mother. Just wait here and when I return, we'll decide what to do next. Okay?"

She nodded and Draco grasped her shoulders. He squeezed them once and then pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before disappearing back out into the corridor.

Hermione was left alone with her thoughts, which was neither pleasant nor beneficial for their case. She hated feeling so useless.  _There has to be something I can do._  She began to pace, one hand behind her back as the other one twirled her wand between her fingers.

On her third lap around the room, Hermione came to a sudden halt. She licked her lips as the obvious course of action came to mind. With a quick wave of her wand, she had sent a message to the Ministry. She knew that getting the Aurors involved would probably place a spotlight on Draco, but the consequences of not reporting such a disappearance would be far more dire.  _Besides,_  she reasoned with herself as she clenched her wand tighter against her palm,  _Draco is innocent._

She resumed her pacing and after a few moments, Draco reappeared.

"Mother's in shock," he said, closing the door behind him and falling into the armchair. "She's absolutely terrified, as you can expect." He ran a hand over his face and then sat up straight, fixing Hermione with a business-like look. "We need to find him."

"I called Harry," Hermione blurted out, bring her hands up in a sign of surrender as Draco's expression darkened. "I had to," she continued quickly. "If the Ministry found out he's missing and we  _hadn't_  alerted the Aurors, that could prove deadly for you and your mother."

A tic was working in his jaw and his eyes were icy cold as his gaze bored into hers. "You called Potter," he said slowly, drawing out the syllables in a hushed tone.

"If I didn't you could be thrown in Azkaban again! They'd think you helped your father escape!"

"Because Potter won't think that?" Draco stood abruptly; Hermione could practically see his rage pulsing and crackling around him.

Dread began to fill her stomach. It settled there like a slab of concrete and Hermione tried to remind herself that she had done the right thing. Draco may not believe that Harry was reasonable and a professional but Hermione had to believe that her friend wouldn't take out a decade-long grudge on an innocent man.

The solid block of dread gave way to hurt, which then dissolved into anger. Hermione clenched her jaw. "You underestimate me," she said.

"And you overestimate Potter." Draco folded his arms across his chest.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but before the argument could really start, there came a rushing sound from the fireplace which glowed a brilliant green and then died down, revealing the form of Harry Potter.

He adjusted his glasses with one hand while wiping the soot from his Auror robes with the other. "Hermione." He inclined his head to her and then turned to Draco. "Malfoy."

As he stepped further into the room, he twirled his wrist in an elegant motion, procuring a notepad and a pen from thin air. Hermione was watching Draco and couldn't help but smirk at the look on his face when he took in the plain, blue ballpoint; Harry had never been one for a quill.

"Tell me what happened." Harry wasted no time, turning to Draco and looking at him expectantly.

Draco shot one last glare at Hermione before sighing and turning his attention to Harry. Hermione watched the exchange as Draco explained how they had been in a meeting with Douglas when they needed to visit Draco's study, found Miksy, and then come to Lucius' study and found him missing. Harry did not look up from his notepad as Draco spoke, writing furiously across the page.

Harry pursed his lips as Draco concluded his story. Hermione held her breath as her friend eyed Draco up and down as if appraising him. "When was the last time you saw him?" Harry asked.

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat at the same time that her stomach dropped to her knees.

Draco shot her a pointed look before he turned back to Harry. "I last saw Lucius on the morning of Christmas Eve; he wished to see me about the arrangements for my engagement party which was held on Christmas night. Lucius did not show up for the party."

"How did he seem when you last spoke to him?"

Draco scoffed. "His usual self; arrogant, smug, controlling..."

Hermione didn't miss the way Harry's eyes narrowed at Draco's statement. She ground her back teeth together and stepped forward, focusing her gaze on Harry. "You can't honestly believe that Draco would have helped Lucius escape."

Harry's gaze flicked briefly to Hermione's and then settled again on Draco's face. "It's standard questioning, Hermione." He cleared his throat. "We have to ask these questions so we know what sort of case we're dealing with here."

"What sort of case—?" Hermione snapped her mouth shut as realisation hit her.  _But there's no way that Draco could have…_ Hermione raised her eyebrows until it physically pained her to hold them there. "Are you suggesting that this could be  _murder_?" she hissed.

Harry shook his head. "I'm not suggesting anything; these questions are  _standard_. I have to ask them. So—" he turned to address Draco "—you can either answer them here, or I can take you to the Ministry."

Hermione knew he was right; these sorts of questions were standard in any missing person investigation, but that didn't mean she had to like it. There was something unsettling about the way Harry looked at Draco, and while Hermione wanted to believe that it was just his mask of professionalism, it simply did not sit right with her.

Draco, on the other hand, appeared calm and almost...aloof? "I'll answer your questions, Potter," he said evenly.

Harry nodded in appreciation. "Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?"

Draco snorted. "It may be quicker if I list the people who  _didn't_ want to hurt him."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. Every fibre of her being wanted to reach out and pinch him. What a thing to say to an Auror who has marked you as the number one suspect in a possible murder case.

"Can you account for your whereabouts between Christmas Eve morning and now?"

"Yes," Draco answered. "I've been here, at the manor."

"The whole time?"

"Yes."

"Is there anyone who can corroborate that?"

"Yes." Draco turned to Hermione, his eyes still cold. "Hermione was here early Christmas morning. The Greengrasses will be able to confirm Christmas Eve."

Harry was writing furiously, his grip on the pen so tight Hermione thought it might snap. "Thank you," he said finally. "Do you have any idea how Lucius may have Apparated from the manor?"

Draco shook his head. "There's no way he could have left on his own," he said. "He had no wand and his movements were being strictly monitored by the Ministry." He glanced towards Hermione who pursed her lips and looked Harry.

The black-haired wizard shot her an apologetic look before tucking the notepad into the pocket of his robes and vanishing the pen. When he met Draco's gaze again, his eyes had softened. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "but it's policy for me to take your wands—" he nodded towards Hermione "—both of yours—in for testing; you'll have them back at the end of the day."

Hermione seethed; she knew that Harry was just doing his job and she would stand by her decision to call him, but if she was being honest, she had expected him to be a little less 'by the book' and a lot more helpful.

Silently, she and Draco handed over their wands. "Thanks," Harry said as he took them gingerly and placed them in another one of his robe pockets. "I'll see if I can rush them through; hopefully it won't be too long." He turned to face Hermione, his green eyes silently asking her to remain calm.  _I'm doing my job,_  they said.

Hermione offered him a stiff nod to indicate that she understood. "Thank you, Harry," she said, though her pleasant tone was forced.

"I have to get back to the Ministry; do not leave the manor. I sort of rushed over here without backup, so I'll need to return with a team before we can start a manhunt. We'll also need to conduct interviews with Narcissa and her lawyer."

Hermione moved towards Draco, placing her hand on his arm as he stiffened at the mention of his mother. He shook her off. "My mother is incredibly ill, Potter," he said through clenched teeth. "I will not allow you to question her as you have just questioned me; she's only just woken up and she is fragile—"

"I just need to speak with her, Malfoy," Harry interrupted, holding his hands, palms facing out. "I promise I won't do anything to jeopardise her health. I'm happy for you to be in the room as well, if it makes you feel better."

Draco nodded once. "And I'll want her Healers there as well."

"Fine," Harry agreed. "I'll see you soon."

With a final look at Hermione, Harry turned and disappeared back through the Floo.

Hermione braced herself for the inevitable argument, but Draco seemed to deflate the second they were alone. For a few moments, Draco simply stood staring into the grate and Hermione watched him, waiting for the spell to break and for him to start yelling.

When he turned, Hermione tensed but his eyes were free from ire. "I think I have an idea about how Lucius left the manor," he said softly.

Hermione blinked. "You do?"

Draco nodded. "Miksy."

Hermione stilled, her brain trying to wrap itself around what he was saying. The image of the distraught elf sitting on the stairs played over and over in her mind, and her gut squeezed painfully. She didn't want to think about Miksy in such a position; how scared would the creature have been to be forced to break Wizarding law?

"It makes sense," Draco said, as if he thought Hermione's silence was indicative of her disbelief.

"It does," she acquiesced. "Do you want me to tell Harry?"

"No," Draco replied quickly. "I'll tell him when he gets back."

Silence descended once more. Hermione felt as though she should be doing  _something,_  but what? Without her wand she was useless against any possible threats that may present during a hunt for Lucius, and even if she still had it, what could she possibly do?

"I'm sorry," she said, reaching out to take his hand and giving it a squeeze; she breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't try to pull away. "I should have talked to you before summoning Harry. I just thought—"

"It's okay," he said, cutting her off.

His silver eyes swam with so many emotions in quick succession, Hermione could not pinpoint one of them. Before she could ask him if there was anything more she could do, Draco's gaze had slipped to her mouth and he was tugging her into him. He placed a chaste but heated kiss on her lips, and for a moment she relished the sensation of nothing but the two of them and the way they were connected.

All too soon, Draco pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. "I need to talk to Miksy," he whispered.

Hermione nodded and let go of him, the soft material of his shirt sliding through her fingers. She watched him as he turned and strode from the room, sensing that he wanted to go alone.

* * *

When Harry returned, he entered through the front door with a group of Aurors behind him. Draco answered the door himself and allowed them in. Hermione caught a flash of orange hair indicating that Ron was here. A new sort of panic settled in her chest; she hoped that Ron would remain professional, and that Draco would stay calm.

"Potter," Draco said with a meaningful glance at Hermione. "Before I take you to see Mother, I have someone else you might like to speak to."

Harry raised his eyebrows but gestured for Draco to lead the way. Hermione's heart dropped to her knees as she followed behind them. Draco had not told her about his trip to the kitchens, and Hermione was still unsure whether Miksy had been the one to take Lucius to wherever it was he was hiding.

Since this morning it felt as thought their relationship had been put through the wringer. His muttered admission was still playing over and over in the back of her mind, masked only by the sheer magnitude of Lucius' disappearance. Hermione longed to once again be alone with the blond wizard, though she knew that he probably didn't remember what he had said.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip as they entered the kitchen and Hermione steeled herself for what was to come. Draco needed her support right now, and with Harry insisting to do things 'by the book', she had to be on guard. She clasped her hands behind her back and leaned against the counter near the entrance so as not to intrude.

"Miksy?" Draco bent down to peer behind the kitchen counter. A sniffle echoed around the room. "I have someone I'd like you to speak to, please."

Draco moved back and Miksy emerged slowly from her hiding place. The elf was shaking like a leaf, her small hands knotted together in front of her stomach. Her large eyes were wider than Hermione had seen them and decidedly red-ringed.

"Hello!" Miksy squeaked and fell into a low bow directed at Harry.

Harry stepped forward and then knelt down so that he was able to look into Miksy's eyes. The poor creature looked absolutely terrified and Hermione had to clench her fists at her sides to stop herself from reaching out and hugging her.

"Hello, Miksy," Harry said softly. He extended his hand towards the elf. "My name is Harry, and I'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's okay?"

Miksy glanced between Harry's proffered hand and Draco, the latter of whom nodded at her. Miksy took Harry's hand and shook it awkwardly.

"You will answer Mister Potter honestly, Miksy," Draco said, his voice soft but commanding.

"Yes, sir!" Miksy squeaked and then swallowed thickly.

"Right, then." Hermione almost gasped in shock when Harry sat himself on the floor and smiled at Miksy. "The most important thing to remember, Miksy, is that you're not in trouble, okay? We're just trying to find your master."

Miksy's eyes grew wide and she turned her head sharply towards Draco. The blond bit down on his lower lip and then crouched, sitting so that he was facing Harry. The elf, seemingly calmer now, nodded her head. "Yes, sir," she whispered.

"I need to know if you have any idea where Master Lucius has gone." Harry's tone was friendly and it was this, Hermione thought, that made Miksy feel comfortable enough to answer honestly.

"Miksy knows where Master Lucius is," she said, her voice shaking dangerously.

"Good," Harry said. Hermione had to hand it to him—his voice did not waver or change in tone as he continued. "And where is Master Lucius?"

Miksy glanced up at Draco, her entire body shaking like a leaf. Draco nodded and offered the elf a tight smile. Turning back to Harry, Miksy opened and shut her mouth a few times, as if her voice box was refusing to cooperate. "M-Master L-Lucius is...is...is in...P-Paris!"

At that, the poor creature burst into very loud tears, her hands gripping the tips of her ears as she had done earlier on the stairs.

"Thank you." Harry reached out a hand tentatively as if he was going to pat Miksy on the shoulder, but then he thought better of it. "Did...did you take Master Lucius there, Miksy?" he asked softly.

"Y-yes." Miksy hiccuped but did not let go of her ears. "M-Miksy took M-Master to th-the cottage. Miksy is a bad elf! A very bad elf!" She punctuated each word with a stamp of her foot, but as she was under a direct order from Draco not to hurt herself, she could not do much more.

"Thank you," Harry repeated before getting to his feet. Draco copied his movements. "Well, that's the best lead we could have hoped for." He met Hermione's gaze and she glared back, crossing her arms over her chest. Harry sighed and turned to Draco. "I'm sorry if I came off as accusing you before; they are honestly our standard questions."

He turned back to Hermione and arched an eyebrow as if to ask if that would be enough to appease her. She offered him a stiff nod and quirked the corner of her mouth; she could not believe that Harry had asked Draco those questions without bias, but she would forgive him as he had at least apologised.

"Dorek!" Draco called.

A soft  _popping_ sound rang around the kitchen and another House Elf appeared. This one was hunched over, his crepey skin hanging off of him in unappealing folds. His nose was hooked and seemed far too big for his face. "Yes, Master Draco?" he lisped, bowing as much as he could with his back permanently bent at such an angle.

"Please take Miksy back to her quarters and make her a pot of tea. I will be up to check on her shortly."

"Yes, Master." Dorek bowed again and shuffle forward, reaching a gnarled arm towards Miksy and taking her by the elbow.

Miksy's eyes were glazed over and she was hyperventilating, her small chest heaving with the exertion. Hermione wondered if the distraught creature could hear what Draco had asked Dorek to do, but then they were gone.

Harry cleared his throat. "If you'll excuse me, I need to organise a Portkey. He slipped his hand into his robe pocket and pulled out their wands "Here, I don't need to take these."

"Thank you," Hermione said, a smile on her lips as she pocketed her wand.

Harry returned her smile as he reached out and pulled her into a one-armed hug. "We'll let you know as soon as we find him," he whispered and then stepped back, continuing on his way.

Draco turned to Hermione as Harry could be heard calling his team of Aurors. "If Miksy led Lucius from the manor—" he began.

Hermione held a hand up and moved towards him. "House Elves can't be tried as humans, Draco," she said softly, reaching out to grip his arm. "Miksy is bound by magic to serve your family; Lucius ordered her to take him away, and she obliged because she has to, not because she wanted to. She won't be punished."

Draco's shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank Merlin."

"Come on," Hermione threaded her fingers through his and squeezed. "Let's go and check on your mother."

* * *

As they entered Narcissa's room, the first thing they noticed was that the bed was empty. The second was that the frail witch was standing by the window, one arm resting beneath her ribcage and the other playing with the necklace around her neck.

"Mother!" Draco rasped. "What in Circe's name are you doing?"

Narcissa did not turn. "I'm thinking."

"About Father?" Draco crossed the room in long strides so that he could wrap an arm around his mother's shoulders. Hermione hung back near the door, unsure whether she should wait outside, or shut the door, or simply stand and wait for an invitation.

Narcissa sighed and then shook her head. "No," she said. "I'm thinking that I'll need to replant my rose bushes."

Draco's harsh laugh ricocheted around the otherwise silent room and he dropped his arm back to his side. He ran it through his hair and then glanced back to Hermione, gesturing for her to come over.

"Mother," he said softly. "We know where Lucius is."

Narcissa turned to look at him sharply, her eyes wide. "Where?" She shuffled backwards slightly until the backs of her legs hit the armchair and she fell into it.

Draco knelt in front of her. "He's in Paris; he ordered Miksy to take him there. That's why the wards weren't activated and why he was able to escape without a wand."

Narcissa released a long, slow breath through her nostrils. "Trust Lucius to rely on the help to escape." She pressed her lips together and then turned to Hermione. "Thank you, dear, for all of your help. I'm sure it was your influence which ensured the Auror's speedy response."

Hermione smiled. "You're welcome, Mrs Malfoy."

"Please—" she leaned forward and took Hermione's hand in hers "—call me Narcissa."

"How are you feeling, Mother?" Draco cut in before Hermione could respond. Hermione briefly wondered if he was bothered by his mother's request and made a mental note to ask him about it later.

"Fine." Narcissa sighed, dropping Hermione's hand so that she could cup Draco's cheek. "I'll admit that Lucius' disappearance was a bit of a shock, but really I should have expected something like this." Hermione screwed up her face in confusion, and when she glanced down at Draco she saw that he was wearing the same expression. "What I mean is that it isn't odd for your father to run; he probably heard that I was awake and knew that I would not approve of the... _changes_ —" Narcissa paused, pursing her lips before continuing "—that I will make to his otherwise perfect plans."

"I don't understand," Hermione blurted out. Two sets of grey eyes turned towards her, pale eyebrows arched in a perfect indication of well-bred curiosity. She cleared her throat and then sank to her knees so that she wasn't hovering above them. "What I mean is that I'm confused as to why Lucius would fear you; how would he know that you don't agree with his plans?" She gestured halfheartedly towards Draco, hoping that she had not offended his mother.

Narcissa smiled slowly, her lips stretching slowly into a wicked smirk. "One of the only benefits of being Lucius Malfoy's wife is that I have been privy to a lot of his secrets. He never tried to hide anything from me, thinking that as a woman I was beneath him and too vapid or stupid to bother remembering or understanding certain deals or actions. His underestimation of me allowed me to retain my sanity throughout the Dark Lord's stay in our home, and my visit to Azkaban." She visibly shuddered, the smirk falling from her face as she folded her arms across her chest.

"You have dirt on him," Hermione said, respect for the older witch blooming in her chest.

Narcissa nodded. "And I've filled Mister Douglas in on all of it. I don't doubt that Lucius would have heard that I had woken. My assumption is that he panicked, assumed I would seek legal counsel, and then fled before the consequences could befall him."

Hermione snorted inelegantly. "And he's still underestimating you," she observed. "He fled to France, to a Malfoy property, not thinking that he could be tracked down so easily."

"No, dear." Narcissa leaned forward slightly, her smile back in place. "He underestimated  _you_." She pointed to Hermione and then to Draco. "Both of you, and your feelings for each other."

Draco cleared his throat, saving Hermione from what was sure to be a downward spiral into a full-blown panic attack. She glanced at him, her cheeks heating. He smirked at her briefly and then stood. He opened his mouth but then froze, cocking his head to one side.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, dropping Narcissa's hand and standing as well. When he didn't answer straight away, Hermione looked back down at his mother who was wearing the same expression as Draco. She glanced between them slowly but before she could ask the question again, Draco was striding towards the door.

"The wards," he said though he didn't turn back. "Potter's back."

Hermione hurried to follow him, jogging down the corridor and bouncing down the stairs. When they reached the foyer, the front door was being opened by the elderly elf, Dorek.

"Mister Potter!" He wheezed. "Come in!"

Harry's voice was muffled but Hermione assumed that he had thanked the elf. When he entered, Hermione noted the cut on his left cheek, and the purplish bruising around his right eye. His black hair was mussed and his robes were torn at the left shoulder.

"Harry!" Hermione rushed towards him. "What—?"

"We got him," Harry said, his breath coming sharper than normal. He held his hand up to indicate that he wasn't about to go into detail, and then used it to gesture behind him.

The next person through the door was Ron; his face wasn't as beaten as Harry's, though his right arm seemed to hang limper than was strictly normal. His other arm was bound to that of Lucius, and as they shuffled into the entryway, another Auror on the other side of the Malfoy patriarch came into view.

"Merlin!" Hermione placed a hand over her chest. She turned to Draco, whose hands were behind his back, twisting and knotting together as he peered at his father through cold, narrow eyes. His lips were thinner than Hermione had ever seen them, and a tic was working in the side of his jaw.

"Draco!" Lucius gasped, baring his teeth as Ron and his colleague tugged him further into the room.

"Lucius." Draco lifted his chin slightly, his tone icy.

The odd group came to a stop three feet in front of where Hermione was standing with Draco. She glanced at Harry and then at Ron, who was watching her with an apprehensive expression. Hermione offered him a small nod and the ginger-haired wizard responded by tugging aggressively on Lucius' ropes.

"We're breaking at least a dozen policies," said Harry, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve, "but we thought it was fitting we allow you one final goodbye before we send him back to Azkaban."

At the name of the prison, Lucius growled and made to break free of the Aurors. Ron and his partner grimaced as their arms flailed with Lucius' movements, but a quick flick of Ron's wand stilled the recaptured fugitive and they once again turned their attention to Harry.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment Lucius began to wail, a high pitched and unearthly tone not unlike that of a toddler in the middle of a tantrum.

After a few seconds and several failed attempts at asking the question everyone wanted the answer to, Draco pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at his father's throat. " _Silencio!_ " he hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously as the room fell quiet again.

"Thank you," Hermione said primly, balling her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. She turned her gaze to Harry. "Was he in Paris?"

Harry nodded. "Yes; not the smartest decision he's ever made." He shot a glare at Lucius, who was mouthing wildly back at him. "He was in the Malfoy cottage with another House Elf." Harry turned his attention to Draco. "Roch?"

Draco's eyes grew wide. "Yes, he maintains the Paris cottage."

"He's okay," Harry said quickly, "but there was a bit of a struggle." He indicated Lucius with a scowl. "We had Roch taken to the hospital there."

Hermione ground her teeth together, rage building within her. She had never been one for physical violence unless incredibly worked up, such as when she punched Draco in third year, or absolute necessity such as during the war. However, in this moment the urge to leap forward and take to Lucius with her knuckles and fingernails was almost overwhelming.

"Lucius?"

Hermione whipped around at the same time as Draco. "Narcissa? You shouldn't—"

"I'm fine." Narcissa was coming down the stairs behind them, leaning heavily on the bannister.

Draco rushed towards her, taking her other hand and helping her the rest of the way down. When they reached the foyer, Hermione turned to look at Lucius. He was sneering at Narcissa, as if she was something filthy in his otherwise pristine house.

He mouthed something and Narcissa frowned. "I'm sorry Lucius, what was that?" Again, Lucius tried to speak but was unable to do so. Narcissa smirked and Lucius glared back, hatred burning in his eyes.

Narcissa indicated to Draco that he should undo the spell. Draco huffed, clearly displeased, but he waved his wand and non-verbally lifted the silencing charm from his father.

"You're awake." Lucius said.

"And you've been arrested. Again." Narcissa clasped her hands in front of her and surveyed Lucius as though he was a particularly thrilling Arithmancy problem.

Hermione almost choked on a laugh. Narcissa may be weak, but she could still deliver one hell of a verbal barb. Lucius' lip curled even further and his eyes narrowed to slits.

"You can't do this to me!" he hissed.

"I'm not doing anything to you, Lucius." Narcissa took a step forward so that she was standing in front of her husband, close enough to reach out and touch him should she want to. Hermione was grateful for the rope binding Lucius; he would not be able to lash out. "As usual, the only person you can truly blame for your current predicament is yourself." She offered him a half-hearted shrug and Lucius growled.

Draco had his wand pointing towards his father's chest in an instant, but Narcissa waved him off.

"I should have known you would ruin everything," Lucius snarled.

"As I understand it, you were the one who has ruined everything. You always did have a knack for forcing our son into situations he did not desire." She lifted her chin slightly as her gaze raked over his bound form. "I assure you, Lucius, that all of the problems you have created for Draco since your release will be undone before you have had the chance to properly settle into your cell."

The way Narcissa spoke, so low and soft yet full of threat and promise reminded Hermione eerily of Bellatrix. There was something to be said for family resemblance, but in this moment Narcissa looked strong and purposeful, not demented and deranged. An odd mix of pride and vindication swelled within Hermione's chest and she had to fight the urge to applaud as Narcissa stepped backwards.

"One last thing before you go," she said, arching an eyebrow in a bored sort of way. "I want a divorce."

With that, she turned on her heel and made her way back towards Draco and Hermione. It was the most strength Hermione had seen her possess, and she couldn't help the smile curving on her lips as the Malfoy matriarch settled beside her again.

Lucius opened his mouth to retaliate, but Draco was too quick for him. Silenced once again, Lucius began to thrash against his restraints. Before Ron and his colleague had to wrestle him into submission, Harry muttered, " _Petrificus Totalus,"_  and Lucius was instantly still and rigid.

"Well, we'd better get going." Harry nodded at Ron and his partner who began to shuffle towards the door, dragging Lucius like a leaden statue between them.

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione stepped forward and took his hands in hers.

"It's the least I could do," he said quietly. "I am sorry if I upset you this morning…" He trailed off, glancing briefly at Draco before making eye contact with Hermione again. "And I'm sorry for being such a prat these past few months."

Hermione smiled as tears began to prick at the corner of her eyes. Whether they were from happiness, relief, or a mixture of several emotions currently swimming in her belly, she wasn't sure. "Apology accepted," she whispered before tugging Harry into a tight hug.

"I need to go," Harry said, indicating the door behind him with a jerk of his thumb, "but we should catch up soon… brunch?"

Hermione nodded, releasing his hands as he stepped backwards. "Sure," she said. "I'd like that."

"I'll owl you." Harry grinned, stepping forward so that he could offer his hand to Draco.

"Thank you, Potter," Draco said, squeezing Harry's hand once. "Really."

"Don't mention it." Harry grimaced. "It's so weird, you showing appreciation."

Draco's lips twitched in a way that made Hermione believe that he wanted to smile in response. Instead, he schooled his features and simply nodded as Harry moved to say goodbye to Narcissa and then left swiftly through the front door.

"Well," Narcissa said, "I don't know about you two—" she indicated Draco and then Hermione by pointing at them in turn "—but I could really use a drink."


	31. Three Little Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeeep! Second last chapter! Cannot believe we're here... in three days this fic will be complete. How crazy! I hope you enjoy this update :D

 

Draco was caught between an overwhelming sense of pride and sheer frustration over the next few days as his mother worked to reverse the contract. Her Healers agreed that she should be resting at first, but they underestimated her stubbornness and soon gave in.

"If she's feeling well enough it's probably a good thing that she's up and moving." The Healer shrugged and Draco only just managed to stop himself from yelling at the cheerful older witch.

He knew that it was a positive sign, but he couldn't help the paralysing fear that plagued him when he was alone—what if the stress of everything sent her back into that blasted coma? He worried that when everything finally calmed down his mother would finally run out of steam. And where would that leave her health?

"Stop worrying, Draco." His mother's voice floating out from her walk in closet tore Draco from his thoughts.

"I will worry," he replied peevishly. "Perhaps when you stop insisting on behaving like a crazy person, I'll be able to breathe freely again."

"It's not crazy," she insisted. She appeared dressed in a set of pale blue robes, her hair twisted into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She looked decidedly thin in her clothes, but she was smiling and her cheeks held more colour in them than he had seen since her arrival back at the manor. "Just think, you'll be free by lunch time!" She stepped forward, her eyes shining as she looked up into his face and patted his cheek.

Draco suppressed a groan. His mother had called a meeting with the Greengrasses for this morning. He knew that it was a step in the right direction in terms of being free from this blasted contract. Wedding plans may have been put on hold, but the contract was still lingering over their heads like a gnome trap. He had tried to negotiate with his mother. There was no rush—she could take a few weeks to tend to her health and  _then_ call a meeting, but no, she had insisted on immediate action.

"You need to slow down, Mother," he said, taking her hands and giving them a squeeze. "We have time."

She sighed. "No, we don't. I will slow down once everything is sorted."

Draco's stomach plummeted at the word  _everything_. How much more was his mother planning on 'fixing' once his contract was nullified? He was about to open his mouth and inquire as much, but before he could utter a sound the wards shimmied around them.

His mother clapped her hands together. "They're here!"

* * *

When they entered the sitting room, the Greengrasses were already seated. They were pressed together on the three-seater, Astoria sandwiched between her parents. Mister Greengrass was wearing his usual worn suit, one foot resting on his other knee to reveal his elastic-less socks. Mrs Greengrass was sitting ramrod straight, her gaze trained on the fireplace as if she expected them to Floo down from their bedrooms.

Tea had been laid on the coffee table but it remained untouched. Dorek stood to the side, out of the way but hovering as if he longed to begin serving the guests. The elderly elf had taken over many of Miksy's duties as the poor young elf had been left severely traumatised after her ordeal with Lucius. Dorek was enthusiastic and obviously enjoyed his newfound responsibilities, but Draco missed the chipper disposition and efficiency of Miksy.

"Mister and Mrs Greengrass," his mother greeted their guests warmly, a soft smile on her face. "And Miss Greengrass, of course."

"Please," Astoria said as she rose from her seat and curtsied, "call me Astoria."

Draco nodded his greeting to all three of the Greengrasses and then took his seat across from them in the armchair. His mother folded herself in the armchair between him and their guests, tucking one ankle behind the other and adjusting her robes.

"Dorek!" she called. "Please serve tea." She smiled at the Greengrasses as the elf scurried to pour hot tea into each of their cups, forcing them into their hands with a shaky grip. Draco practically had to catch his in mid-air, but he thanked the wizened elf all the same.

He brought the liquid to his lips and blew, using the action as an excuse to observe the trio on the couch across from him. Mister Greengrass looked positively terrified whereas his wife seemed mildly annoyed. Astoria was watching her shoes, her confidence from earlier surprisingly absent. Draco frowned; was this not what she wanted?

"Well, I suppose we should just jump into it," his mother said, setting her tea cup on the edge of the coffee table. "The contract." She clapped her hands together and eyed each of them in turn, Draco included.

"You want to nullify it?" Mister Greengrass spoke matter-of-factly. If it weren't for the tight grip on his teacup, Draco would have been fooled into thinking that he was not all that concerned about the issue.

"Yes," his mother said, pursing her lips. "It seems barbaric to force these two young people together when that isn't what they want."

"Sometimes being an adult means making sacrifices and doing things you don't want to do," Mister Greengrass reasoned with a pointed look at his daughter. Astoria did not look up.

Draco now understood Astoria's disposition; her father was here to argue for keeping the contract. His stomach rolled and he set his tea on the table shakily, pushing it away from him. If there was going to be an argument, he wanted to be the one to fight; his mother didn't deserve the wrath of a burnt-out businessman and his haughty wife.

"When there is no benefit to anyone, why would you pressure her into such a union?" his mother inquired, an eyebrow arching elegantly as she shot Draco a meaningful look.

_I've got this,_  it said. Draco set his lips in a thin line but accepted that there was no discreet way to communicate his doubts. Instead, he settled back in his chair and vowed to jump in the second the Greengrasses made to attack.

Mister Greengrass glanced furtively between his wife and Draco's mother. "Well," he said slowly, "I wouldn't say that there are  _no_ benefits… whatsoever…" He began to reposition his tie, his fingers shaking as he did so.

A sick surge of pleasure flowed through Draco as he registered the wizard's discomfort. It served him right, coming here and thinking that he could argue with the likes of Draco and his mother. His lack of respect was evident in wanting to take on an ailing woman, and for what?

"Oh?" His mother's tone was polite, but there was a strong undercurrent of warning and Draco couldn't hide a smirk.

"The money," Mister Greengrass finally bit out as if it physically pained him to speak the words.

"What money?" Draco glared at the man, ire quickly replacing the sense of pride from before.

"The money we were promised."

For a few long seconds, no one said anything. The tension was so thick Draco thought it might choke them all before the contract could be properly nullified. Just when he was about to unleash a diatribe unlike anything he would have ever dared to utter in front of his mother, she spoke.

"I'm afraid you have been lied to, Mister Greengrass," she murmured.

Astoria's father snapped his head up to look at his mother. "Excuse me?"

His mother shook her head in a dainty movement. "There is no money. All of the Malfoy fortune has been frozen and my inheritance is currently being investigated by the Ministry. I cannot access it until my period of house arrest has ended."

Mister Greengrass blinked slowly. Draco watched as Mrs Greengrass slowly reached across Astoria's lap so that she could squeeze her husband's knee. "You're saying—"

"Lucius lied," Draco cut in. "He could not have accessed Mother's money without her permission, and his own fortune is tied up in months worth of red tape."

There was another pause.

"The only sum of money he could have offered you is Draco's," his mother said, "and that is only a small amount, enough for further education fees or perhaps a downpayment on a small flat."

Mister Greengrass had gone very red. Draco wondered what else Lucius had promised his betrothed and her family to make them agree to his demands. He was annoyed with himself for not realising that there would have been some sort of blackmail involved.

"Well," Mister Greengrass said, blinking rapidly, "well…"

"This marriage is of no benefit to you," Draco said. "It will only make your daughter miserable." He nodded towards Astoria, who smiled gratefully at him. "If your goal is to rebuild the Greengrass name, you're going the wrong way about it; we cannot help you."

Mister Greengrass expelled a huff of air through pursed lips, the whistling sound reverberating around the room. Mrs Greengrass was glancing furtively between her husband, Draco, and his mother. Astoria appeared to be holding her breath.

Draco's heart was pounding against his ribcage, and for the first time in his life he prayed. He prayed to any deity who might be listening to make the Greengrasses see reason; he was no saviour, nor did he want to be. They would not find what they sought with him or his family, and while Mister Greengrass seemed to be focused on Galleon-signs, Draco couldn't be sure that he would agree to void the contract. Spite seemed a fair price to pay for Lucius' lies and he didn't exactly paint the image of a caring, loving father.

"Fine," Mister Greengrass finally said. "I concede; I will agree to voiding the contract." He ran a hand down his tired face and glanced to Draco's mother with glassy eyes. "What do we need to do?"

His mother smiled, looking more energised than she had since she woke up. She called for Dorek to bring her the papers and the next half an hour was spent signing parchment and agreeing to forgo any voidance terms.

By the time the Greengrasses left, Draco was exhausted and craving a stiff drink. He left his mother in the capable hands of her Healers and retired to his study where he intended to open a new bottle of Ogden's.

"Well, there he is. Wizarding England's most eligible bachelor!"

"Bloody hell!" Draco had his wand drawn and pointing at the throat of his Italian friend who was lounging in his desk chair. "What the fuck, Blaise?"

He smirked. "I think it's pronounced  _welcome back,_  and thank you."

Draco ran a hand through his hair and dropped his wand. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard that your father was arrested… again," Blaise answered, his tone now slightly more sombre. "How is your mother?"

"She's fine." Draco waved a hand dismissively. "It's like she was never in a coma the way she's prancing about."

Blaise snorted. "Sounds about right. And Hermione?" He waggled his eyebrows in a way that made Draco want to punch him.

"She's good," he answered instead, gritting his teeth.

"Excellent."

To keep his hands busy lest they end up lodged in his friend's face, Draco moved to pick up the bottle of Firewhiskey which had been sitting on his desk. He settled himself in the armchair across from Blaise and conjured two tumblers, filling them with amber liquid.

"How's business?" he asked.

"Booming." Blaise grinned as he accepted the glass from Draco. "I've left in a bit of a rush, but the majority of the work is done."

"That was quick." Draco brought his drink to his lips in a bid to hide his shock. He had not expected Blaise back for months… how had he managed to settle everything in a matter of weeks?

Blaise nodded, sucking his teeth as he swallowed a mouthful of Firewhiskey. "It hasn't taken as long as I thought. Turns out it wasn't as difficult to get the support I needed." He grimaced, as if the thought of people wanting to help him was somehow disgusting.

Draco snorted. "Well, I'm happy for you."

They fell into a peaceful silence, both lost in their own thoughts as they enjoyed their drinks. Draco was not about to admit it out loud, but he was glad that Blaise was here. He felt as though the presence of the Italian wizard somehow grounded him, or perhaps it was just the fact that having a friend as flighty as Blaise gave him the sense of being stable.

"What now?" Draco asked after a few minutes. "Are you staying?"

Blaise observed Draco over the rim of his glass. He nodded slowly. "I think so," he said, sticking out his lower lip thoughtfully. "I'm looking at an apartment tomorrow."

Draco choked on his Firewhiskey. "That's serious," he said thickly, wiping his chin.

Blaise smirked around the edge of his tumbler. "I figured it's time to lay down some roots, come out of hiding."

Draco nodded. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could the Floo roared to life and Hermione stepped out into the room. He stood swiftly, ready to greet her.

The brunette witch smiled as she caught his eye, but just as he was about to return the sentiment, her gaze slid from his face to Blaise. She let out a shriek and launched herself at the Italian wizard who caught her in a one-armed hug as he rose to his feet.

"You're back!" she squealed into his shoulder.

Draco huffed as Blaise chuckled. "Don't mind me," he muttered. "Your  _boyfriend._ "

"Don't be jealous, Draco," Blaise mock-chided as he released Hermione.

"Yes, Draco," Hermione teased as she made her way over to him. "Don't be jealous."

Draco maintained his scowl, though his lips twitched as he watched his girlfriend and best friend banter in front of him.

* * *

Hermione skipped up the steps to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, looking forward to her brunch date with Harry and Ginny. Things had reached a sort of plateau and she was finally feeling like herself again. She had returned to regular visits with her friends and she was beginning to form traditions with Draco and Blaise, though she had to concede that a game night had been a bad idea—Monopoly and a former Slytherin disposition was a bad combination—but drinks on a Friday night had turned out to be fun.

Hermione knocked on the door, a smile gracing her features as she waited for the tell-tale sound of pattering feet.

"Coming!" Harry called out and three seconds later the door opened to reveal his smiling face.

Hermione pulled him into a tight hug before moving past him and making her way to the kitchen. Ginny was seated at the table, three mugs of tea steaming under stasis charms set before her.

Hermione greeted her and took her seat, tucking her hair behind her ears. She opened her mouth to ask how they both had been as Harry took his seat, but Ginny interjected.

"I'm pregnant!" she blurted out.

For a fraction of a second there was only silence as Hermione took in what the ginger-haired witch had said. "You're…" she enunciated slowly, and then her brain caught up and she launched across the table to pull her friends into a tight hug. "Pregnant!" she squealed. "Oh, Merlin! Congratulations!"

"Thank you." Harry grinned as Hermione released him. "It's still early, but we wanted you to know."

"Wow!" Hermione glanced at the beaming faces before her, so many wonderful emotions swirling in her gut. She wasn't sure what to say next, she was excited and happy and entirely overwhelmed. Tears pricked her eyes and she giggled as the first one slipped down her cheek.

"Oh no!" Ginny shook her head emphatically. "Please don't! I haven't stopped bloody leaking since the Healer told us the test was positive."

Hermione only laughed harder, unsure what to make of herself as her body rebelled against everything she had known to be a proper reaction to such an announcement. "I'm sorry—" she sobbed and laughed at the same time "—it's just the most wonderful news!"

Harry seemed entirely out of his depth as he placed a hand comfortingly on his wife's back and rubbed soothing circles as tears fell down her cheeks. Ginny was grinning so wide Hermione thought her face might crack, which only made her laugh harder.

After a few minutes of insanity, they pulled themselves together and hugged over the table again. "I am so happy for you both." Hermione sniffed delicately and pulled back, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeves.

"At the risk of setting you off again," Harry said with a furtive glance at Ginny, "we'd like to ask you if you would be godmother."

Hermione's eyes once again filled with tears but she blinked them back, breathing deeply in through her nose. She nodded, her throat tight. Of course she would be the godmother of Harry and Ginny's child; she was honoured… but there was one thing she needed to clear up before she could fully accept.

"Harry, Ginny," she began, clearing her throat in a futile attempt to dislodge the lump there. "I feel honoured that you would ask me." She folded her hands in her lap, her fingers squeezing together to ease some of the anxiety burning in her chest. "However, I think that it would be a mistake to accept without first clearing the air." She glanced first at Harry and then Ginny who were both wearing identical expressions of wary confusion.

"Okay," Harry said slowly with a sideways glance at Ginny.

"I'm with Draco," Hermione stated, licking her lips. "I need you to understand that I'm serious about him and that he is an important part of my life." She paused, but neither Harry nor Ginny seemed to have anything to say. Hermione's tone softened as she continued. "I don't expect you to be best friends, but I have to know that you will at least be civil and accept that he will be around for the foreseeable future. I guess what I'm asking for is your support…" she trailed off lamely, shrugging her shoulders to her ears and leaving them there in a tense posture as she took in their expressions.

Harry's jaw was tight, but his gaze was open. He nodded stiffly once and Hermione relaxed, turning to Ginny, who chewed her bottom lip and cocked her head to the side. A burning heat clawed its way up Hermione's oesophagus; she had not expected Ginny to be the one to hold a grudge.

"So…" the red-haired witch said, drawing out the syllable in a sly drawl. "You and Malfoy… how serious are we talking?" She arched an eyebrow and Hermione exhaled in short-lived relief.

"Serious," she answered, her tone guarded. She wasn't ready to admit out loud how she felt about the blond wizard; at least not until she had told him herself.

"I see." Ginny raised her chin and nodded as if she was considering a very lucrative business deal. "Well then, I suppose I agree to your terms. I'll be civil, and I promise not to call him a ferret…"

"Thank you." Hermione sagged in her chair and smiled at each of them in turn.

"…to his face." Ginny flashed her a wicked grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fair enough."

She doubted that her friends would ever see Draco through her eyes, but she could settle for them at least playing nice when they were forced to inhabit the same space. Gratitude filled her heart as she grinned, changing the subject back to Ginny and her pregnancy.

* * *

Hermione stood in front of her fireplace, a fistful of Floo powder clenched in her right hand. She was chewing her bottom lip as she looked into the orange flames, imagining the same scenario over and over in her head with a different ending each time.

Narcissa was now up and about, though she still tired easily; Lucius was safely locked up in Azkaban; Draco was now free from the betrothal with Astoria… There were no more obstacles keeping them from being a normal couple.

Hermione grimaced.  _I don't think we'll ever be a_ normal  _couple._

Despite this thought, she was stalling. Since the morning of Boxing Day, things had been far too hectic to bring up Draco's almost-admission, but Hermione had officially run out of excuses. She knew it was time to confront the blond wizard who had completely captured her heart, but she was terrified of rejection.

What if she had misheard him? Perhaps in the emotion of the moment, she had  _thought_  he said 'I love you' when really he had said 'thank you'? Or maybe—

Suddenly, the flames glowed green and Hermione was forced backwards, the ashy powder falling from her hand and onto the floor. The back of her legs hit the side of couch as the object of her overthinking unfolded himself from her grate.

Draco smirked as he took in her shocked expression, piecing together what she had been about to do with a glance towards the mess on the floor. "Hi," he greeted her softly.

He reached for her, his hands finding her waist. The warmth from his palms bled through the thin material of her shirt, thawing her stiff posture. Hermione melted into him as his lips claimed hers, soft but insistent.

"Were you going somewhere?" He stepped backwards, his smirk still in place as he ducked his head to read her expression. Hermione licked her lips and Draco frowned. "What's the matter?" He was suddenly serious.

"Um… I just, I—" Hermione stopped, her mouth still slightly open. Her heart was racing a million miles a minute and she thought she might pass out.

"Hermione?" Draco reached for her but Hermione moved backwards, stumbling until she was standing behind the couch.

She couldn't do this… Her fingernails caught as she curled them into the fabric of the lounge. Hermione had struggled with emotions—recognising, interpreting, and understanding them—forever, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to hide something of this size. Even if it hurt her in the end, it was better to say something now than let it fester.

Draco opened his mouth again, his hands slipping into the pockets of his trousers. Hermione glanced furtively around the lounge room as if she might find something that would buy her a few more seconds of thinking time. She finally settled on his face, and clarity washed over her like a bucket of ice water.

"I think I love you," she blurted out, her hands balled into tight fists still lodged in the back of the couch. She inhaled sharply and held her breath as she watched Draco's reaction.

His eyes searched hers for a fraction of a second, his expression impassive. Hermione's heart sank to her stomach and she wished desperately that she could pluck the words out of the air and stuff them back down her throat. Before she could panic, though, Draco's lips twitched and he began to move slowly towards her, his hands sliding out of his pockets so that he could hold them out in front of him, palms facing her.

"You  _think_ you love me?" He arched an eyebrow as his chest pressed against hers. "And here I was believing you to be the  _brightest witch of our age_ … yet you don't  _know_ if you love me…" His hands once again found her waist, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles at her sides.

"Fine," Hermione bit out, her head swimming. "I know I do."

"You know what, Granger?"

"You're messing with me." She narrowed her eyes and brought her hands up to rest on his biceps. He smirked in response and Hermione huffed. "Fine. I love you."

Without warning, Draco dipped his head and planted a bruising kiss to her lips. Hermione stumbled backwards as he walked her into the wall, several books falling from the end table with a thud.

"Draco!" Hermione admonished, breaking the kiss and holding him at arm's length.

"I love you, too." Draco's gaze slipped from hers for just a fraction of a second, landing on the tome on the floor. When he made eye contact with her again, his expression was pensive.

Hermione thought her heart might beat straight out of her chest. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her mind was blank, Draco's words echoing in the empty space as if they were a broken record.

"You do?" she finally managed to choke out.

Draco frowned slightly, taking a step towards her. "Yes," he answered slowly.

Hermione licked her lips as Draco's hands settled at her waist, one of his eyebrows quirked in a silent question. "You told me in your sleep on Boxing Day. Well, sort of..."

Hermione's chest clenched at the memory, but the realisation that the sleepy words Draco had uttered were true soothed the sensation. Her breathing was once again returning to normal and her fingernails were no longer trying to embed themselves in her palm.

Draco's cheeks flushed with colour and his hands clenched in her shirt. "I did?"

She nodded, a smile curving at her lips. "It was very cute."

Draco sneered as his gaze dropped to her mouth. "I am not  _cute._ "

"Whatever you say."

He growled low in his chest and dipped his head to capture her lips with his. The kiss was instantly hot and demanding; his tongue entered her mouth without preamble and she moaned at the sudden intrusion.

His hands rested at her hips, bunching in the fabric of her shirt and pulling it upwards. Understanding that he wanted to take it off, Hermione obediently raised her arms and allowed him to tug it over her head. His lips were on hers as soon as the garment passed her mouth. Draco tossed it to the floor with one hand while the other danced across the bare skin of her stomach.

Hermione shivered as she locked her arms around his neck and pulled him flush against her chest. She felt as if she was on fire and doused in ice water at the same time. His arms wrapped around her middle, squeezing possessively as he angled them towards the corridor and continued walking her backwards.

Her head thudded against the wall next to the door of her bedroom, but the sharp pain dissipated almost as soon as it appeared thanks to Draco's ministrations at the buttons of her jeans. He had them undone within seconds and then moved his hand to open the door.

They stumbled through it without breaking the kiss. Tripping on her now-loose jeans, Hermione giggled against Draco's lips and he finally pulled back. He dropped to his knees in one swift movement and gripped the hem of her pants. He tugged them aggressively down her legs and indicated for her to step out of them. She did as she was told, now standing in the middle of her room in nothing but her underthings.

Draco began to trail kisses from her ankle, up her calf, over the sensitive flesh of her thigh. Hermione shuddered and gripped his hair to prevent herself from losing her balance.

"Draco," she breathed, her fingers twisting in the blond strands.

An appreciative groan was his only response. His hands followed his lips, gripping the back of her legs until they came to a stop just below the curve of her arse. He kissed his way across the waistband of her knickers and Hermione bucked forwards involuntarily. He chuckled into her and she saw stars.

Draco pulled back and Hermione had to bite her tongue to stop from whining in protest. He met her gaze as his fingers hooked into the band of her knickers and slid them slowly down to her ankles.

He shuffled forwards on his knees, urging Hermione backwards until she reached the foot of her bed. With a smirk, he indicated that she should sit; Hermione did as she was told and in one fluid movement, Draco spread her legs and o the apex of her thighs.

"Oh, fuck!" Hermione moaned, her fingers clenching in Draco's hair.

He hummed his response, sending vibrations through her core which threatened to undo her on the spot. Her skin was crawling with the want and need for this wizard and she couldn't decide if she wanted him to continue with his tongue, or whether she wanted him to throw her on the bed and take her six ways from Sunday.

His tongue alternated between tracing a figure-eight pattern over her clit and lapping flat against the sensitive bud. Hermione let out a string of expletives; if it hadn't been for Draco's firm hold on her she would have collapsed. Goosebumps prickled at her skin and she bit down on her lower lip as her eyes fluttered shut.

She gasped as Draco's forefinger entered her and began to pump slowly in and out in time with the flick of his tongue. Hermione felt as though she was soaring, floating through the clouds, higher and higher…

Draco added his middle finger, two digits now thrusting into her heat, curled just so in order to hit her sweet spot. His tongue was now flat against her clit and the pleasure coursing through her veins was overwhelming. Hermione bucked her hips forward as she began her descent, spiralling downwards as she shook against him, her hands snapping several strands of his hair as she came.

She kept her hold on him as the orgasm passed, tugging him away from her over-sensitive bud when he continued to tease it with the tip of his tongue. He grinned wolfishly up at her as he rose to his feet, maintaining his hold on her back so as not to send her tumbling to the floor.

Her legs shook as he claimed her mouth again, the taste of herself on his tongue sending shocks of primal pleasure through her veins again. She moaned and he smirked against her lips before pulling back, resting his forehead against hers. For a moment they stood there like that, their arms wound around each other.

Draco was the first to move, walking Hermione backwards to the bed and allowing her to fall on to it; she scooted backwards until she was laying with her head against the collection of pillows.

She reached her arms out towards Draco but he only grinned and stepped backwards. Hermione pouted, feeling cheated, but then he reached over his head, tugging his shirt to reveal his abs and then his chest. She bit down on a groan as he tossed it to the ground and began to work on the zipper of his jeans.

In seconds he was completely naked and climbing on to the bed. He hesitated as he hovered above her, his eyes searching hers for a second before he kissed her deeply. Hermione wound her arms around his neck and pulled him down on to her, relishing in the feel of his warm skin against hers.

Without breaking the kiss, Draco threaded his arm beneath her and unhooked her bra with two fingers. Hermione could not hide that she was impressed with his finesse, but before she could verbalise it, Draco's fingers had found a nipple, tweaking it from beneath the loose cup of her bra.

She arched into him, moaning as his ministrations trailed pulses of pleasure from her chest towards the apex of her thighs. His lips moved down her jaw and settled at her pulse point, licking and nipping and sucking until Hermione felt like a puddle of nerves beneath him.

He chuckled into her neck and then moved his lips to her ear. "I love you," he whispered right before he sheathed himself inside of her.

Hermione moaned, her eyes fluttering shut at the sudden feeling of fullness. She had not realised how badly she had ached for him until the ache was gone. He began to move immediately, his hips snapping quickly against her own in a frenzied rhythm.

"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione moved her hands to her hair as Draco held himself off of her, his hands planted either side of her head and his arms taut.

She wound her legs around his middle and arched up to meet his thrusts. Stars exploded inside of her eyelids as another orgasm threatened. It rolled through her, her walls squeezing Draco's cock as he continued to thrust. He groaned, her name falling from his lips over and over as he found his own release.

"I love you too," Hermione panted as he collapsed beside her.


	32. One Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are gang. One last time I'd like to thank ravenclaw-sass and littlered1992, my two main betas for this piece. They have pulled me back from the ledge more times than I can count. Thank you to my many betas in the first couple of chapters. We may have only worked together for a short time but I am appreciative of the work you did.
> 
> And most importantly, thank you to my readers. You guys have made me smile from ear to ear after an update and I feel so blessed to have taken this journey with you. I hope that the ending is satisfactory. Much love xx

Hermione woke slowly the next morning, enveloped in warmth with a sense of peace surrounding her. The first thing she was really aware of was Draco’s presence. She let her eyelids stay closed as she smirked at the way he was pressed against her, one of his legs tangled between her own. His right arm was wound protectively over her middle and he pulled her flush against him as he woke.

“Good morning,” Draco whispered, his voice hoarse with sleep. He began to trail kisses from behind her ear down towards her neck. 

Hermione hummed appreciatively. “Morning,” she said thickly, wetting her lips with her tongue before stretching them into a lazy smile. 

I could get used to waking up like this, she thought to herself as Draco continued to pepper kisses over her shoulder. His hand was splayed across her belly and he was tracing soft patterns against her skin. Hermione couldn’t decide if she wanted to fall back to sleep, lulled into slumber by Draco’s ministrations, or if she wanted to roll over and mount him in a re-enactment of last night.

“How did you sleep?” he asked before she could decide.

His hand stopped at her hip, kneading the flesh there and Hermione pouted. He smirked against her shoulder as if he understood the reason for her delayed response. Collecting herself—as much as possible with someone like Draco doing all sorts of wonderful things to your body—Hermione opened her mouth to answer but before she could, the door to her bedroom flew inwards and smacked against the wall. 

Both she and Draco had their wands pointing towards the entryway within seconds, the sheet falling to their waists and baring their naked bodies to the cool air. 

“Of course she slept well,” came a familiar drawl. “I’m sure you shagged her into the mattress, Draco, you sly—”

“Zabini!” Draco growled, a feral sound tearing from his throat as he wrestled himself from Hermione and made to get out of the bed. As his right foot hit the floor he seemed to remember that he was completely nude and froze. A frustrated sound rumbled in his chest but he stopped trying to move and simply glared at the entryway.

If Hermione hadn’t been so busy snatching at the covers, she would have found the entire ordeal rather comical—after Blaise had revealed himself as the intruder, of course. She tugged at the sheet as soon as Draco stopped thrashing about and held it to her chest.

Blaise sidled into the room, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender. He was wearing a broad smirk and he glanced at each of them as he came to a stop at the end of the bed. With a snarl of pleasure, Draco hit him with a stinging hex.

“Ow!” Blaise squealed. Hermione gasped, turning from Draco who looked far too pleased with himself, back to Blaise who was now bent double, clutching at his chest. “Okay—” he gasped “—I deserved that!” 

Hermione didn’t know whether to chastise Draco or laugh at Blaise’s discomfort. She settled for smirking, figuring it was a middle-of-the-road gesture. 

“What do you want?” Draco asked through gritted teeth. His wand was still trained on Blaise and Hermione sighed as the Italian eyed it warily. She moved her hand so that it was hovering over the instrument and pushed down, forcing Draco to lower it into his lap. “Spoil sport,” he muttered, but obediently let it fall between his thighs. 

Blaise straightened, still wincing as he began to rub the spot the hex had hit him. “I came to find you this morning… at the manor.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly. “You weren’t in your room or your study, so I figured that after all the excitement what with being free from your father’s crazy whim and all, you’d run to Hermione’s. And here I am.” He spread his arms wide and Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“How did you get in here?” Hermione asked, fear gripping her as she tried to recall the last time she had tested her wards. 

“I walked down the corridor and through the doorway,” Blaise said, mock pride lacing his tone. 

Hermione sneered at him and gestured for Draco to raise his wand again. “I meant how did you get into my flat?” 

Blaise eyed Draco warily and then sighed. “You’re no fun,” he muttered. “I came in through the Floo; I was at Draco’s, remember?” He pressed his index finger to his temple and tapped it twice. 

“Damn,” Hermione swore. 

She looked to Draco who shrugged. “He doesn’t usually turn up in my bedroom when I’m naked,” he said as he lowered his wand, albeit reluctantly. 

Hermione tilted her face to the ceiling. It wasn’t exactly the wake up call she had been hoping for, but at least they hadn’t been attacked. Besides, she was glad to have Blaise back, even if that meant she would have to have a serious conversation about personal boundaries with the impossible wizard. 

“Well, if you let us get dressed, I’ll make us all breakfast and you can regale us with whatever tale necessitated you bursting into my bedroom uninvited.” Hermione gestured towards the door with one hand while keeping a tight grip on the sheets currently preserving her modesty. 

Blaise dropped his arms and grinned wolfishly. He opened his mouth, intent on unleashing what was sure to be another inappropriate witticism, but Draco pointed his wand at his friend before he had the chance. “Don’t,” he growled between gritted teeth, “even think about it.” 

The dark-haired wizard huffed indignantly but nodded his head, conceding defeat. “Fine,” he said, sticking his nose in the air. “I’ll save my genius for someone who appreciates it!” With that, he flounced from the room and slammed the door behind him. 

Draco groaned and fell back against the pillows. Hermione giggled and leaned over him, planting chaste kisses over his chest. “Come on,” she said, the memory of what had just transpired playing over in her mind. “If we don’t move soon, Blaise will probably start going through my laundry looking for dirty knickers or something.” 

When they reached the kitchen, Blaise had donned a frilly apron he had clearly conjured himself. A tea towel sat effortlessly over one shoulder and the smell of bacon and eggs cooking filled the air. 

Hermione inhaled deeply. “I said I was going to cook,” she said as she took a seat next to Draco at the breakfast bar. 

Blaise shrugged and turned back to the pan. “I figured it was only fair seeing as I did burst in on you.... Naked.” Hermione was sure he added the last part with a wicked grin. 

“I still have my wand,” Draco warned.

Blaise laughed but he wisely kept his mouth shut. 

It was nice, Hermione decided as Draco and Blaise began to bicker playfully. Draco got up to make her a coffee and she watched him as he moved around her kitchen. It was hard not to enjoy the view of the blond wizard as he placed the grounds in the cup, poured water from the kettle, and added a dash of milk—exactly as she liked it. 

She murmured a thank you, trying not to grin like an idiot as she brought the mug to her lips and blew on the steaming liquid. If Draco noticed anything odd about her expression, he didn’t react to it, continuing his attempt to outwit Blaise, for Hermione’s benefit she was sure. 

“So,” Blaise said as he set two plates in front of them, “I have something I have to say.” 

Draco stopped, his knife and fork poised over his food. “Is there poison in this?” he asked, all traces of previous humour gone.

“No.” Blaise shook his head. “Not this time.” Hermione stared incredulously at the Italian, sure she would never understand him or his decidedly Slytherin way of life. “I wanted to tell you that I’m…” he trailed off, his expression twisting into a grimace. “I’m dating Astoria,” he blurted out and then shoved a huge forkful of breakfast into his mouth. 

“You’re… since when did you… what?” Draco cocked his head to the side and let his cutlery drop into his plate. The sound reverberated in Hermione’s brain and she winced. “You’ve only just arrived back in England!” 

“We kept in contact,” Blaise replied evasively. 

“While you were in Italy?” Draco asked. Blaise nodded. “While I was still technically engaged to her?” 

Blaise lifted his head, meeting Draco’s gaze. “It wasn’t like you wanted to be engaged to her.” 

There was a pause in which Hermione braced herself for a possible outburst, but then Draco shrugged and returned to his food. “I don’t have a problem with it,” he said around a mouthful of bacon. “Good luck to Astoria, I guess.” He hid his grin behind his hand, chewing furiously and Hermione had to suppress a giggle. 

“And you’re not blackmailing her?” Hermione asked after another moment of silence. 

Draco let out a harsh laugh, his head falling back in an over-the-top display of mirth, but Hermione’s question had been a serious one. She had not forgotten the way Blaise had blackmailed Vivienne with her uncle’s debt. Why would Astoria agree to date the man who had her father by the proverbials? 

Blaise glared at his friend before turning pointedly to Hermione. “No,” he said. “That… matter… has been put to bed.” 

“Oh?” Hermione arched an eyebrow and cut into a piece of bacon. 

Blaise cleared his throat and sighed; anyone would think that he had been sent to tell someone their grandmother had died the way he behaved. Hermione hadn’t seen such a dramatic display since sharing a dormitory with Lavender Brown. “I spoke with both Daphne and Astoria. In an odd turn of events, me telling Daphne that I had the hots for her sister somehow made me repulsive to her.” He shrugged, a frown marring his handsome features. 

Draco snorted. “Go figure.” 

Hermione shushed him and Blaise continued. “Anyway,” he said with a pointed glare at Draco, “we chatted about the money I loaned their father, and I agreed to waive it.”

“That was very noble of you,” Hermione offered with a smile.

“Yeah,” Blaise agreed. “You wouldn’t believe what Astoria let me to do to her when I told—”

“Okay!” Draco cut him off. “That’s disgusting, first of all, and second…” He gestured with his fork for Blaise to continue with his story, sans the sexual content.

“Fine.” Blaise rolled his eyes, apparently annoyed that they were not finding entertainment in his depravity. “I offered Astoria’s father a job with my company; it’ll keep them afloat, at least.” 

“Wow.” Draco was suddenly serious. “Wow,” he repeated. 

“Shut up,” Blaise muttered, picking up his knife and fork and focusing solely on his breakfast. 

“This is amazing!” Draco crowed. Blaise scowled and refused to look up from his plate. “The Blaise Zabini—fuck boy extraordinaire—has feelings for another human being!” 

“I’ve felt things for people before!” 

Hermione choked on her mouthful, laughter erupting from her chest. She had not known the Italian as long as Draco, but she knew that he was lying… unless he was talking about feeling things in a sexual sense—then he was correct. 

Draco laughed, a loud booming sound which ricocheted around Hermione’s kitchen. For a few minutes neither of them could speak as they clutched their stomachs and tears rolled down their faces. 

“I can’t wait to see how this plays out,” Draco finally said, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Hermione didn’t think she had ever seen a bigger smile on the blond’s face. 

They made small talk as they finished the rest of their meal and Hermione reflected that she felt at home with Draco and Blaise. She remembered the first time she had visited the blond prat after his release and marveled at how far they had come. He was completely free now, ready to start his Healers course in the Spring; Narcissa was much better and only required a medical check up once a week. And Hermione was happy in her role at the Ministry now that she was no longer under the rule of a tyrannical psycho. 

I’m happy, she thought with a wide smile. Who’d have thought?

 

Draco had never understood the draw of the outdoors unless it involved a broomstick and a set of goal posts. The fact that his mother chose to spend her time tending to the manor gardens was something that still boggled his mind, but he had to admit that the way she smiled as she bent to smell the roses was endearing. 

“It’s so beautiful out here!” Hermione was at his elbow, her hair rebelling against the horrible orange hat she had forced on top of it. She twisted her face up to grin at him as she threaded her arm through his. 

He grinned back at her, unable to help himself at her obvious enthusiasm. “It is,” he agreed. 

The ice of winter had mostly disappeared, leaving the grounds lush and green. His mother was now feeling well enough for short bursts of weeding and she had begun replanting some of the garden beds around the front of the house. 

Around the back of the property, however, it was slightly overgrown and unruly. The plants here had not seen a lot of love since the Malfoy family’s joint incarceration and Draco could tell that his mother was just itching to get her hands dirty—literally. 

However, it seemed that his brunette witch was drawn to the less than perfect gardens and happily walked beside him, pointing out different species of flora as they moved along the path. Surprisingly, Hermione had not come across a lot of the plants that grew in the Malfoy grounds and she paused often to ask him the name of a flower or shrub. 

Draco had never been one for herbology and so he could not answer her. He did marvel at the fact that there was something that she didn’t know, which he felt great pleasure in pointing out until she reminded him that he didn’t know it either. 

“Hermione!” His mother had stopped by a particularly large rose bush full of red blooms. He would never understand how they stood open and proud in such biting cold weather. “Come and look at these!” 

“Coming!” Hermione turned to him and reached up on tip toe to place a quick kiss on his cheek. He turned at the last second, claiming her lips with his and relishing in her squeal of surprise. She laughed, slapping her open palm on his chest as he smirked down at her before turning and skipping over to his mother. 

Draco hung back, taking shelter from the wind underneath an old alder tree. He leaned against the trunk, watching as Hermione and his mother gushed over the rose bush. From here he could make out their smiling faces and couldn’t help the grin spreading over his own face as Hermione threw her head back, laughing at something his mother had said. 

His mother reached for Hermione’s wrist as they shared in their joke and Draco thought his heart might burst. He knew that he and Hermione had not had the most conventional start to a relationship, but he also knew that he would do anything for the brunette witch. If someone had told him a year ago that he would one day be in a relationship with the Golden Girl of Gryffindor he would have laughed in their face. He smirked at that thought, though he quickly sobered as Hermione turned and met his gaze. 

He pushed off from the trunk and made his way back to the path, his hands deep within his trouser pockets to protect them from the wind. By the time he reached the rose bush, Hermione had wandered on ahead. His mother was waiting for him though, a knowing smile on her face. 

He rolled his eyes as he came to a stop in front of her. “What is it, Mother?” 

“Nothing,” she answered quickly. 

Draco scoffed. His mother had always been easy to read. “Come on, out with it. I know that look; you’ve got something you want to say.” 

His mother didn’t answer straight away. Her gaze shifted from his face to her left, where it locked on the figure of Hermione. His witch was now admiring a large, yellow flower he didn’t know that name of. For a moment his mother continued to watch Hermione, a soft smile curving her lips. 

“You know, Draco,” she finally said, “I think Hermione is just perfect for you.” 

“Thank you…?” Draco frowned, confused. 

His mother laughed and placed a hand on his forearm, tugging him closer to her. “I really do.” She patted his arm and began to move, indicating with a crook of her finger that he should follow. He humoured her, sighing as they slowly wandered in the direction of the nameless yellow flowers. 

She stopped suddenly, just out of earshot of Hermione. His mother turned to him, her expression serious though her eyes danced with… excitement? Draco frowned, wary of such a combination of emotion on his mother’s face. 

“I have something for you,” she said.

“Oh?” He blinked as his brain tried to process all possible outcomes and came up blank. 

His mother stepped back slightly, sliding her fingers daintily into the pocket of her robes. When she straightened she fixed him with a triumphant look before pressing a small object into his palm. 

Draco held her gaze for a second before letting it drop to his hand. He choked as he registered what it was; a ring. It glittered in the weak sunlight, a simple blue sapphire wrapped in a halo of smaller diamonds. The band was thin and plain; he had to admit it was an elegant piece of jewellery, but did it mean what he thought it meant? 

“Really, Mother?” he hissed, extending his arm, intending to hand it back. “Don’t you think it’s a bit soon to be imagining wedding bells?” 

His mother laughed. She placed her hand over his, curling his fingers around the ring. “Perhaps.” She shrugged. “Though I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone to be so in sync as you two.” She nodded towards Hermione and Draco followed her gaze, fear building in his chest.

Had she seen…? He breathed a sigh of relief as his gaze landed on Hermione who was still mesmerised by the flowers. He licked his lips and turned back to his mother. “I love her, Mother,” he said softly, “but I don’t think we’re ready for this.” He pinched the ring between thumb and forefinger and thrust it back towards her.

His mother glanced down at it, a smile slowly spreading across her face. She shook her head and stepped backwards. “I understand that it might not be today.” Draco scoffed incredulously but his mother paid him no mind. “Not today, then,” she repeated, “but when you do decide it’s time to take the next step, I want you to use that.” She nodded towards his hand which was now in a fist, clutched against the bottom of his ribcage. “It was given to me by a good friend at Hogwarts, and it would mean a lot to me if…” she trailed off, her voice decidedly thick. 

Draco exhaled softly, holding out his arm to stop her. Her eyes were glassy and she sniffed, offering him a watery smile. “I will,” he said, squeezing her arm in an attempt to comfort her. “When the time is right.” 

His mother nodded and pulled him into a fierce hug. He returned it with equal fervor, unable to recall a memory in which he had ever been embraced like this by his mum. 

“What took you two so long?” Hermione’s voice coming from Draco’s shoulder forced him to release his mother and stumble backwards. 

“Nothing,” Draco answered quickly, pocketing the ring in what he hoped was an inconspicuous movement.

“Nothing at all,” his mother repeated with a knowing smirk. 

Hermione glanced between the two of them and Draco held his breath. Her gaze was piercing and he knew that she did not believe them. After a tense moment, Hermione seemed to decide that whatever they had been discussing was not of her concern and her smile widened. Draco exhaled in relief, intent on putting the ring out of his mind—for now. When he was back in his room, alone, he would find the perfect hiding spot for it… he would most certainly not begin planning a proposal. Definitely not. 

He shook his head as Hermione’s voice forced him back into the present.

“Narcissa,” she said, taking his mother’s arm and dragging her over to the plant. “What is this one called?” 

Draco suppressed a laugh. No, it was not time to propose to Hermione just yet. They had so much still to learn about each other, and that was exciting enough. He would enjoy the time with his witch, and he would look forward to the day he could call her his wife. 

As he watched her, intently listening to his mother’s lecture on whatever plant they were now discussing, Draco reflected on what had brought them to this moment. He regretted the way things had started between them in terms of their school years; he feared he may always feel guilty about the way he behaved. He also rued the fact that she had had to deal with his father… but if that was what it took—going through a whole heap of shit and coming out the other side stronger for it—then that was a necessary evil he was willing to accept.


End file.
